Slave of Dragons
by Water Mage
Summary: Sequel to 'Potter'. A Basilisk is loose, letters ask for his blood, and an assassin is after him. You would think Harry was scared. He was. But most of his life was spent destroying things he fears. Next to a dark lord, piece of cake.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter either. It belongs to its creator J.K. Rowling and probably Warner Bros. too. I'm not too sure about that. This piece of literature is simply the work of a humble fan. I also credit Laurell K. Hamilton for various themes, subjects, or references that I may use. It won't be a crossover but certain elements from the series will be used.

* * *

:Author Notes:

This will be leaning more toward alternate reality. It will have the same characters just a different spin on things. If you're not a fan of strong cursing or maybe even violence and bloodshed then there is a good chance that this story isn't for you.

* * *

**Slave of Dragons**  
Potter "Year Two"

Prologue

By: Water Mage

Harry's breathing came out in slow, even breaths as he stared down at the scene below. Where was he, well he was watching the proceedings from inside the air vent above his father's meeting room. Killian McKnight sat in his high backed, leather chair staring at the woman across the table. The woman herself was quite a sight. Her hair was dark brown with light blond streaks running through the long tresses. Expertly done makeup adorned her face, matching perfectly with her dark blue blouse and knee high business skirt. Harry stared at her face. Her blue eyes were friendly, and the smile on her face was used with purpose. She smiled as if she knew the effect it had on people. The way her entire demeanor lit up with that smile was incredible. That smile had probably gotten her a lot of things in life. Harry took a glance at his father and grinned. Instead of quivering or even blushing like other males would have done, Killian merely raised an eyebrow and gave her a long glance.

"Ms. Oliver," began Killian.

"Allison," she said, interrupting him, still smiling her bright smile. "Please, call me Allison, Killian."

"It's Mr. McKnight," he replied back. "What can I do for you, Ms. Oliver? I have no idea as to why you want to meet with me."

Ms. Oliver's smile wilted a bit at the edges at the use of her last name. An emotion flashed across her eyes before it vanished and her smile was back full force. "Mr. McKnight, I work at the _Prophet_. A wizarding newspaper devoted to delivering hard hitting and pivotal stories to the magical community."

Killian shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ms. Oliver, but if you came for an interview then you have wasted your time."

"I don't want an interview with you."

Expressions of confusion crossed over Killian and Harry's, from where he had been hiding, face's. Where as Harry's mouth had dropped open and his eyes had widened in pure bafflement, looking like a fool, his father merely raised both his eyebrows. That was as far as his confusion showed on his face. Harry feeling silly, even though no one could see him, fixed his face so that it mirrored his father's mask of calm and composure.

"Excuse me, but if not me, then who do you attend to interview?" asked Killian, his face showing nothing.

Ms. Oliver smiled again, that same bright smile, the one that was so sweet that it could cause cavities. Harry matter of fact had to turn his head to resist groaning out loud. It was so damn annoying how she thought she was fooling someone with this act she was putting on.

"I want an interview with your son, Harry Potter," she replied simply.

"No."

Harry recoiled so fast at what she said that he barely registered hearing his father's response. He stared down at the scene below, brow creased and mouth formed into a frown. What the hell did this woman want with him? It made no sense for her to interview him. He wasn't anyone important in the wizard realm. There was that whole thing where he defeated the Dark Lord as a baby. That didn't make him anyone important or even special. Well, maybe it did. Also, he did after all have an encounter with Voldemort just last term at Hogwarts. No one knew details but no doubt the rumor mill had chugged up. The circumstances of the incident probably even reached the Ministry by now. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. This wasn't the time. Focusing, he looked through the vent again.

The smile that Ms. Oliver had worn previously had worn out. Her eyes, bright and shining, had dimmed so that they looked no longer friendly. They looked determined. A real woman on a mission. Her back straightened and she regarded Killian critically.

"Mr. McKnight," she said, friendly voice gone. She was all butch now. "I don't think you understand. You haven't heard the rest yet. I'm pursuing a story on your son's uniqueness. All I need is a sample of Harry's blood and the warlocks the _Prophet_ has on retainer will conduct experiments to see how he did it. Block the Killing Curse I mean. This story will be huge."

"I don't think you heard me when I said no," said Killian, voice freezing with coldness. "Harry will not be made to be some lab specimen and asked questions about something that he barely remembers. So, I'm going to tell you this once. Leave."

Ms. Oliver rose to her feet, looking elegant as a debutant and face chillier than a snowstorm. She glared down at Killian with so much contempt that it was slightly disturbing. Killian for the most part didn't even blink at the glare leveled at him. In fact his eyes seemed to warm up and his lips quirked a bit. The colder the glare got the brighter his eyes got and the bigger his smile got. He was more amused than anything. Harry was surprised he just didn't outright laugh in her face.

"I'm sorry for taking up your time then," Ms. Oliver said curtly. "I bid you good day, _muggle_."

She walked toward the door with quick deliberate steps. The door opened and one of the Archangels stationed at the door escorted her down the hall. Harry couldn't contain it any longer. He busted out laughing, clapping so loud that it echoed through the room below.

"Bravo, bitch," he cheered loudly, clapping. "Bellissimo!"

Killian's head snapped up and eyes moved over the ceiling till they landed on the vent. Shaking his head, he got up and wheeled his recliner to the grate covering the air duct. Standing on the chair, he reached up and opened the grate. Once Harry was on the ground, still laughing, Killian gave him a stern look.

"She was cold as ice, Dad," smiled Harry, chuckling. "That look she sent you could have frozen London."

Killian gave him a look that quickly stilled his chuckling, making him quiet and suddenly guilty. "Care to tell me why you were in the air duct listening in?"

"I got lost," replied Harry clueless, as if he hadn't the faintest idea of how he got there. He was hoping that he could make his father laugh and hopefully get out of a punishment…

"You're grounded. No television. No laptop. No leaving the grounds."

No such luck…

* * *

Harry thumped his head to the beat pumping from the speakers in the ceiling. His body danced in the training circle, mostly used for sparring, located in the gym's center. The gym had a high vaulted ceiling with benches that lined the walls to the left and right. To the right were the uneven bars, balance beam, and other equipment. Lining the wall to one side of the room was various weapons like swords, daggers, axes, nun chucks, and staffs. Harry's shortsword, shined in the light as its master used the rhythm of the music to counter, parry, and slash at invisible opponents. Sweat dribbled down his forehead, but he cared not. All his thoughts were focused on completing this kata. He had only practiced with his sword sparingly, since its weight was too much for his small hands. But over the course of the past year, he had grown a couple of inches and his body mass had increased, along with his strength. While the weight and balance still felt slightly off in his small hands, it felt much lighter than when he had first wielded the blade the previous year. Finally, after about an hour Harry tiredly brought his routine to a halt. His movements having become stiff and less fluid, as sore muscles screamed in protest at being overused.

"Good job, Harry."

He snapped his head around. Grinning tiredly, he said hello to his teachers. Well, his part time teachers. Most of the time they acted as his father's bodyguards, the Angels of Death, as they were called by some. They were the highest skilled and deadliest Archangels his father employed in his services. Their most astounding feature was that they were completely loyal to Killian McKnight, a fact that many bribes and bids for their services had attested to.

Todd picked up the swordfrom the ground. Flicking his wrist, the blade practically sung as it cut through air. Harry watched with wide eyes as Todd did a few moves that made him feel like an amateur. Dylan rolled his eyes, and mouthed 'show off' to Harry, who quirked his lips up grinning.

"A fine blade," said Todd appreciatively, handing the sword back to Harry. "It handles very well."

Dylan looked at the blue hand guard of the blade, watching entranced as it winked in the light. "Almost makes me wish there were more like it."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean, Dylan? Couldn't you just go to the shop you bought it from and find one just like this one?"

Todd shook his head. His eyes looked inward as if recalling a memory. "I remember the day we got that sword. It was in a little shop in London. I would have noticed it except that it was raining that day and we ran inside so we wouldn't get struck by lightning."

Dylan nodded, he too looking thoughtful. "I remember that! You were screaming like a schoolgirl."

Todd sent him a pointed look. "Ha ha," he said sarcastically. "You know that didn't happen." Looking back to Harry, he continued. "The shop was filled with old relics and statues and the like. It wasn't till I saw that sword that I knew that it was the special something we should give you."

"There was that short, old man, too. The shopkeeper," muttered Dylan, looking rarely serious. "He had that cockney accent. Once we told him we wanted to buy the sword, he went in a fit, wanting to know who we were buying it for and asking if we knew how priceless it was. Something about, he wanted the sword to go to someone worthy enough. Anyway, he was off his rocker and we bought it."

Todd sighed and muttered something that sounded like idiot. "Anyway, Harry, to make a long story short, the shopkeeper explained to us that he found that sword during a dig in southern China. He said it was priceless because no one knows why a Roman shortsword would be buried in Greece. He said the time graphs they did on it plays havoc with the history books, since it was buried there long before anyone from Italy even visited that side of the world."

Harry looked at his sword in awe. "I never thought it was so…"

"Expensive?" butted in Dylan.

"One of a kind," Todd hinted.

Harry continued staring at the shortsword. "Old."

* * *

Harry stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist as he made his way to the sink. He picked up his glasses off the sink and slipped them onto his face. He loved contacts, and there advantages, but from to time to time he just had to let his eyes rest. Hence the reason that he was wearing his glasses. Harry looked into the mirror and took in his appearance. His wet hair, which had grown longer the past year, hung down an inch past his shoulder blades. His skin had taken on a summer tan from being outside. A tan that would surely fade come winter time, leaving him as pale as the moon. Running a comb through the wet tangles, he mentally debated whether to cut it or not. Not chop it all off but just a few inches. Harry shrugged. He wore it tied back anyway, so cutting would be just a waste of time. He ran some hair goop through his hair, brushed it out, and then tied it back with a rubber band.

He opened the door and walked into his bedroom. "Hey, Thor," he greeted his cat. The white cat had grown into a handsome fully grown cat in the year that Harry had him. "How's it going buddy?"

Serenity, who sat perched in her caged, hooted indignant at the attention that was not being given to her. Harry rolling his eyes smiled at his owl and gave her a treat. She gave him a nip on the finger as a thank you. Harry ran a finger down her back, her gray feathers feeling soft and smooth between his fingers. Thor hissed at Serenity, jumped from Harry's hand, and ran from the room as if his tail was on fire. Harry snorted at the look of utmost superiority that Serenity threw the cat as he left the room.

"You two drama queens will be the death of me," Harry told Serenity.

It was not like his two familiars hated each other. In fact they got along with each other considering they were different species. But each was an 'Attention Junkie' as Terry had labeled them while at school. When it came to Harry's affection they each felt that they were number one. And if Harry ignored one for the other, there would be a bitch fit like none other.

Harry slipped on a pair of boxers then put on a worn pair of blue jeans. He picked out a red polo and a pair of all white Nike's with red threading. He looked at the calendar as he slipped on the shirt. It was the first of July and so far his summer had been an uninteresting one. He had seen Riley a few times, but his two best friends were absent. Kevin was vacationing with his father in Transylvania. No joke. How stereotypical was that, vampires in Transylvania. According to the few letters he did get from his vampire friend, they were visiting something called the Foundation. He was extremely vague in his letters so he had no idea what the Foundation was or what they did. All he knew was that it was a group of some kind. Terry on the other hand was spending his summer mediating and looking into pools of water. Fun, fun, fun. Sarcasm aplenty in that sentence. His mother had sent him to Tokyo to study with a group of temple priests. They were helping him hone and develop his powers. So far, Harry had gotten only one letter from Terry. Seems, the priest were old men with a torture kick. Terry spent his days waking up with the sun, and trained till he passed out when the stars came out at night. Oh yes, fun.

Harry plopped down onto his bed sprawled on his back. His father had taken his television and computer. Sighing, he picked himself up. The sky was clear and the sun was out. An overall beautiful day. Harry picked up one of the books he got from Flourish and Blotts last year in Diagon Alley.

"Hey, Todd," he said, waving at the man as walked past him on his way downstairs.

Harry left the house through the doors that led into the back grounds. A reflecting pool stretched on before him, its blue waters glinting in the shining sun. The grass was that dark green that came from good maintenance. He walked around the building to its other side and smiled. The garden was something to behold. Beautiful flowers of red, yellow, and gold grew on the bushes spread throughout the area. In the midst of this sight were tall hedges pruned and shaped perfectly. The hedges together formed into the shape of a square. Some people went their whole lives without seeing an honest to goodness maze but Harry had one in his own backyard. It was his favorite place on the grounds. The hedge maze of yews looked simple in nature but inside, the maze was complicated as any other puzzle. The spaces were narrow and the ground inside was gravel so you couldn't see footprints. You could very well wind up in the same place twice. Something that he used to do all the time as a child. Time passed and Harry had long ago solved the puzzle to the maze. With sure steps he walked around corners, turning left, right, right, left, all the while singing a song in his head. At the mazes center was a grassy area with a stone bench. A small pond was off to the side and in the center of the space was a small rose bush, pruned to perfection. Its flowering red roses were in full bloom. The place was a quiet sanctuary. A kind of home away from home.

Harry sat down on the bench, the book lying beside him. He looked up into the air and blinked. The sky was doing that shimmering thing. A translucent silver sheen shone in the sky, forming a dome around the entire compound. He had noticed it first thing when he came home for the summer. His father hadn't seen it but he could. The only conclusion he could come up with was he was Seeing the Unseen. He could sense that the dome wasn't harmful in the least. It felt right. The signature of power radiated that same warmth he had attributed to the Song of the Green. His theory was maybe Dagda had placed it there to keep those carrying magic who would do him harm, out. Since no wizard had ever attack him, he guessed that it had been there his whole life. It didn't feel new in a sense. The power felt rooted, anchored to the grounds.

As long as he didn't have any psycho wizards with tattoos come shooting spells at him, while he was sleeping, then he was encouraged by his theory. Hmmm… he tasted that thought again and considered maybe he was just being a little paranoid. Yeah, right, more like being realistic.

Harry opened the book at his side. Immediately the smiling faces of Hogwarts alumni greeted him. The book was a comprehensive "year book". Year book being used in a loose sense. The book went through each year of Hogwarts, detailing important events, miscellaneous scenes, and photographs of day to day life. The book he had went from 1950 to 1990. He flipped to section on the eighties, the time his parents went to Hogwarts. By chance, Harry had flipped to a page that had a blown up photo of Lily Evans and James Potter. James, with his wind blown hair that fell all over his head, gazed at Lily with a look of utter adoration. With long, red hair cascading down her back, Lily Evans was a gorgeous young woman. Eyes so identical to Harry, she glared at James then rolled her eyes. James would merely pout at her attitude then go back to staring with love filled eyes.

"Hi, Mum and Dad," Harry said softy, finger tracing the edge of the picture.

It was in the quiet serenity like this, being surrounded by nature, that Harry felt most in tune with the Song of the Green. Ever since that day he went against Voldemort and tapped into his full power, he hadn't been able to do it again. The Song of the Green, its glorious music ever playing the serenade of life, could only faintly be heard by his ears. If he tried hard enough, when he was surrounded by nature and feeling content, could hear the faintest of notes. It was never as intense as that day in the chamber. The day that he felt whole, as if something inside of him had been clicked into place. He wondered idly, for what had to be the hundredth time, how in the hell did he have a link to such power. Dagda had hinted that his mother had the power, which stands to mean that she wasn't human. She had to have been a sort of Faerie creature of some kind. But the research he did into the Fey said that the Tuatha Dé Danann were above their kin, the Daoine Sidhe, the High Faerie's. The Tuatha Dé Danann were gods. So how his mother could be tied to such power, he had no forking clue.

A glimmer of light appeared in the corner of his eye. Harry turned his head toward the light and frowned when it disappeared. It appeared again at the edge of his vision and as he snapped his head around it vanished. What kind of shit was going on here? He knew he was not going insane. He knew he saw something. He taped into his power. Immediately his vision took on another quality as he began to See. His power swept out, like a quiet wind, searching out for that which was hidden. It found his target and the power swept over it, bringing it from the in-between and into the seen. There in front of him, sitting on a petal of the rose bush was it.

Harry dropped his book and stood up, gaping. Moving closer, mouth open wide, and eyes the size of saucers Harry could only stare. A ball of light hovered, but it definitely wasn't a glowbug that was for sure. It was a tiny person. It obviously hadn't seen Harry for it was entranced by one of the roses. Harry snuck around to the opposite side of the bush to look at it closer. He plucked a rose from its place so he could see through the bush and watch the person covertly. Not noticing he had pricked his finger on a thorn from the rose, blood dribbled down his finger landing on the soft grass. Slowly, Harry circled the bush, watching the little person, all the while dripping blood. He swallowed involuntarily as he got a good look at the tiny light person. It was a he, approximately six inches tall. His little body, surrounded by a silver nimbus of light, was covered with a white tunic, and dragonfly wings adorned his back. His face was one that would inspire artists all over the world. A perfect face was framed by shaggy, white locks. With a shock Harry realized what he was looking at, a fairy. A real fairy. Somebody pinch him. Was it just him or was his life turning into a Brothers Grimm story.

Harry hadn't even realized he walked a complete circle around the bush till he stood directly behind the fairy. Beyond the edge of his hearing, he heard a little snap. Immediately, the fairy screamed a shrill scream, sounding like a small kitten that hadn't learned to meow properly or a bitch in heat. In a glimmer of silver light and the buzz of wings, the fairy took to the air, silver motes leaving a glimmering trail behind him. It reached the perimeter of the circle that Harry had walked around the bush and hit an invisible wall of hair. With a thunk it collided with the air as if it were a wall and spiraled down to the earth, landing on his back. Ouch, that so had to hurt.

"Who dares trap a fairy in a circle of power!"

Harry blinked. The words were imposing but the voice didn't quite inspire any fear into him. In fact the voice sounded younger then his own. It was a little kid's voice. Okay, things were defiantly getting too Disney around here. Harry cleared his throat and his eyebrows raised in surprise, as a pair of silver eyes glared into him with a scorn that he didn't know what he did to deserve.

"Umm…hey," said Harry, waving.

The fairy fluttered up to Harry's height, all the while glaring. "Release me from this circle, boy wizard! I shall have you know that I am in high favor with the King of Light and Illusions! He's the King of the Seelie Court of the fairy. He will kill you mortal for imprisoning me."

Harry held up his hands in defense. "Hold up, shortstack. I didn't imprison you. I don't know why you can't leave. You keep going on about a circle of power, but I don't know what that is."

The fairy crossed his arms over his chest, glaring. "A circle of power is something used to keep immortal creatures in or out. I'm supposed to believe that you trapped me inside here by accident? Blood is power and the energy from blood is needed to close the circle…"

Harry held up his bleeding finger and grinned sheepishly. He shrugged. "Ooops."

The fairy narrowed his eyes. His little hands balled into a fist and he began to curse in an unknown language. It was a pretty language. The symbols rolled and the words sounded like notes of a melody. Harry rolled his eyes. This fairy creature was getting old and fast. He kept going on about things he didn't understand. It was like being in History of Magic all over again. Suddenly, the creature squeaked and pointed at Harry or more particularly the scar on Harry's face.

"You wear the mark of Dagda!" the fairy said in awe. "How is that…" His eyes widened as if something had slapped him in the face. "You have faerie blood in you. I can feel it running through you. Your heart, beating in time with the pulse of the Earth. How is it that you, a wizard, wear Dagda's mark?"

Harry shrugged. "I think my mother was a Faerie."

The fairy hovered as close to Harry's face as he could, taking in his green eyes and the mark on his brow. He bit his lip and whispered something unintelligible under his breath. Suddenly, the fairy's face took on a friendly expression.

"I will offer you a deal, mortal. I will use my magic to show you the story of your blood. Your blood is your mother's blood and blood is life. It knows where it came from and where it will be. Through your blood I can show you where your mother came from. How she came to be."

Harry's eyes lit up, but he refused to show how eager the offer made him. To know how his mother acquired her power and to see her true heritage would be something that would settle all his questions. He refused to jump and immediately made a pact with the being. He may as well be making a deal with the devil. He didn't know this fairy creature from a can of paint.

"Listen Tinkerbell, I don't even know your name. How do I trust your telling the truth?"

The fairy sneered. "You couldn't even hope to pronounce my true name. Lyrio is what I go by though." Lyrio stopped sneering and looked at Harry carefully. "As for the not trusting bit… If you are who I think you are then you have no reason to fear me... It's I who should fear you."

Harry didn't know what that was supposed to mean. He knew that he had the little guy trapped in a circle of power and all but it wasn't like he was going to step on him. That was just cruel and unusual punishment. So sighing, he agreed to the fairy's deal. He had a feeling deep within that he could trust the little fairy. Plus, he remembered reading that the word of a fairy was absolute truth. They couldn't turn their back on their word no matter how much they wanted to go against it. Lyrio explained how to break the circle. Harry followed his instructions and scuffed his foot along the edge of the perimeter, imagining a circle being broken. There was a hiss of energy and a _snap_ as the energy holding together the circle was released back into the earth.

"Lyrio, you better keep your promise," said Harry in a warning tone.

Lryio nodded, smiling. "Of course, of course."

He muttered something under his breath. To Harry it sounded suspiciously like 'I'm going to get in so much trouble'. Harry started to question his reasoning behind that but couldn't because he was suddenlyhit by a cloud of silver, fairy dust. Coughing, he waved his hand in front of his face to clear his vision. When the dust dissipated, Harry realized that Lyrio was long gone, soaring through the sky like a silver comet. Unbeknownst to Harry the scar on his brow was glowing. Its golden glow radiated so brightly that if one were to look at it head on then they would have to shield their eyes.

"Lyrio, you little bastard!" Harry yelled into the sky, giving the finger. "You tricked me! Peter Pan will kick your ass! What a bunch of bullshi…"

Harry's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell backward, unconscious.

* * *

_  
A throne room, decorated in blue and silver, held an assortment of people on this celebratory occasion. Tall people, their bodies giving off a soft glow stood around the room, gazing at the couple in the middle of the hall. In honey robes that shone gold in the light, stood Dagda. His green eyes were lit up in happiness. His arm was wrapped around the waist of a statuesque woman who could be non other but his wife. Her long, wavy red hair cascaded down her back in soft waves and her brown eyes were lit up just as her husbands._

_"Thank you everyone for coming," said Dagda to the people. "Morrigan and I would like to welcome to you our new daughter. Behold, the princess of the Tuatha Dé Danann, Lilith."_

_From the cradle beside him he scooped up a sleeping baby. Her eyes opened slowly at the sound of applause. Dagda held her up proudly, showing her off like any new father would. As the applause died down, Morrigan took Lilith and transferred her back to the cradle. Joining hands they walked to their thrones that stood a few feet away._

_"As tradition states," said Dagda, his voice carrying across the room. "It is time for the bestowing of the gifts."_

_A young man with cornflower, yellow hair stepped forward and unrolled a scroll. "Her highness, Queen Thistle of the Flower Courts," he read, in a cultured voice._

_A woman, her skin glowing a soft blue, glided forward. Her dark blue dress complimented the blue, translucent butterfly wings on her back. They fluttered softly allowing her to effortlessly glide to the cradle. Her blond hair fell down over her face as she gazed into the cradle upon the darling baby. Her rose colored lips broke into a smile as Lilith awoke at her presence. Queen Thistle turned toward Dagda and Morrigan. She curtsied smoothly and stepped forward._

_"To Lilith I give the gift of beauty. While she is a beautiful child, all I can do is improve upon what is already perfection. She shall be the fairest of the fair and a jewel of my court."

* * *

_

_A child, no older than 10 years, ran through a hallway, her laughter light and warm. Her red hair flew behind her like a streamer in the wind. Her green eyes landed on a half open door. Her father's treasure room, she thought excited. She was no never aloud in there. No one was around… the door was open. The answer seemed simple to her childish intellect. Lilith crept into the room, looking around in awe at the various objects lining the walls. What really caught her eye was the long table at the end of the room. Scrolls, books, and shiny objects that entranced her bade her forward. Standing on her tip toe, she reached up and picked up a stone off the tables edge. She frowned as the surface of the stone shimmered and shined with an inward light. Her eyes took on a glazed over look as she stared at it unblinking._

_"Lilith, what in Danu are you doing in here child?" asked Dagda stepping into the room, and coming behind her._

_The stone dropped from her hands and she looked up at her father, her eyes once again focused and her face set. His eyes settled on the Lia Fail lying near their feet. Picking it up, he set it back on his table feeling a sense of dread flood through him. What possibly could his daughter had seen to make her look as she did. The stone of destiny did not idly show trifle matters of the future. It showed you precisely what it was named for. It showed you destiny, whether it be good or bad._

_"Lilith, what did you see?" he asked, taking her hand._

_She looked into his eyes. His green eyes that she inherited her own from. "I saw my destiny."_

_Lilith acquired many titles as the years passed since the day she looked upon the Lia Fail and saw her fate. The most used were the goddess of protection, lady of the Flower Courts, and princess of the Faerie gods. In those years she grew into a beautiful woman. Her beauty knew no equal within all of Otherworld, the land beyond the Earth, where creatures of lore roam, myths are truth, and legends are fact. The dwelling of the immortal and the dead. Some knew it as the Great Beyond, the Everafter, or the Nevernever. Most called it Otherworld. It was on her eighteenth birthday that she gazed upon the stone again. Like those years before, Dagda walked into the room and came upon her. _

_"You still haven't told me what you see when you look upon the stone?" Dagda questioned, softly._

_Lilith turned to him, eyes sad. "I have to do something father and I would like your support." She drew herself to her full height. "If you won't support me then I will do it without your help."_

_Dagda frowned. "Why would I not support you in whatever it is you would ask of me?"_

_Lilith took a breath, gathering her courage, she explained. "My destiny, father, is not godhood…my destiny is on Earth. My soulmate is a mortal. A wizard. I wish to join him at his side."_

_"No. I wont allow you to leave Otherworld to live with the mortals!" he roared, jaw clenching angrily._

_She shook her head. "Father, you have no choice. I can feel it in my heart that my soul will never be complete here. When I looked in the stone when I was a child, I saw my destiny, yes, but I also fell in love. The boy I saw in the stone stole my heart."_

_"Lilith! Please, daughter, I can tell there has been something heavy on your shoulders all these years, but I'm sure we can do something."_

_Lilith smiled, sadly. "I saw my destiny all those years ago and I've accepted it. My heart is on Earth, father. Please, let me go."_

_"Is this really what you wish?" Dagda asked sadly, looking down at her, torn._

_Morrigan with tears trailing down her cheeks hugged her daughter never wanting to let go. Dagda hugged his youngest daughter once his wife let go. Brigid and Aengus mac Oc, her sister and brother, were there too each lost in grief to see their sibling leave. Lilith, had yet to shed any tears. She had come to grips with her choice years ago. Hugging each of them again, she looked upon their faces trying to take in their features so she could forever carry them in her heard. She stepped back and gazed around the Hall of Fire one last time, the hall place where she first learned to dance, where she celebrated all her birthdays, where she got her first kiss. This place held so many memories._

_"It's time, Lilith," spoke Dagda. "I love you, daughter. Always."_

_"I love you too, Da," she replied, voice quiet as her eyes watered. "I love all of you."_

_He waved and light flooded the Hall…_

_Lilith was sent to Earth, to the Evans family in the form of a daughter. Their memories were changed, along with records to show that Lily Evans was their legal, blood daughter. All who knew the family from then on remembered events as if Lily was always the daughter of the Evans'. Lily herself had her godly powers bound and memories modified so she knew no different than the Evans. She herself believed that she had always been their daughter, as memories of godhood and dancing along clouds, were replaced by school and playing with her friends at the park. Time had been rewind on her body, turning her into the age of a ten year old. The exact age that she looked into the Lia Fail and witnessed her fate._

_"Do you know me?"_

_Lily looked up from her book of Irish Mythology, a subject that always fascinated her. Green eyes met brown in a time stopping stare. Lily took in the boy before her. He was already dressed in his Hogwarts robes, and was a first year, like she was, since he didn't have a crest over his heart like the returning students did. His black hair was a mess. It looked like it had never seen a comb. His glasses were brown, darker than the brown of his eyes. Something though struck a chord of familiarity inside her. She felt that she had seen him before once upon a time. But she surely would have remembered such a person. The hair alone was something that was unforgettable. No one purposely wore their hair that messy._

_Blinking to clear her head, she thought over what he said. "I'm afraid that I don't."_

_"Would you like to?"_

_"I'm sorry," she replied, confused._

_The boy grinned at her. "Would you like to know me that is," he said in what she could tell was his suave voice._

_For the first time in her mortal life, Lily Evans looked upon James Potter, her soulmate, with nothing but disgust._

_Lily leaned her head against James' shoulder. Closing her eyes, she snuggled up to him. Strong arms wrapped around her waist, balancing the both of them in the armchair they sat in. The light from the fire warmed their bodies fighting the winter chill._

_"I think that I'm going to take that job, James. The one at the Elysian Institute. With their resources I think that I can figure out why I have these powers. Why I can see things others can't? And that song…the one I hear just beyond my hearing whenever I'm outside. I know it has something to do with Ireland. I can feel it."_

_James kissed the top of her head. "You're just special Lily, that's all. I've known that from the moment I first saw you."_

_She turned her head to look at him. "You always say the sweestest things…age sixteen and up of course."_

_He gave a sarcastic laugh in response and attacked her sides, tickling her with a vengeance. Their laughter filled their living room and echoed through Godric's Hollow._

_Lily stood in front of the door while standing protectively in front of the crib that Harry was placed in. Lily held a wand in one hand and in the other was a silver, Celtic cross. Her head was bowed and eyes were closed as she spoke softly under her breath. An invisible wind blew in the room blowing her hair wildly about her. A soft emerald glow surrounded Lily as she chanted, while her hand clenched the cross in a death grip. The song that always hovered on the edge of her senses suddenly amplified and pounded in her ears with intensity like never before. The song guided her in her next actions, putting words into her mouth that she would have never before uttered._

_"I call upon the spirits of my homeland, the emerald isle of my forefathers, Ireland. Tuatha Dé Danaan please hear my plea. I beg the aide of the Fearie Gods, the Little People, the King of Light, the Queen of Darkness… Any who will hear me, please help me! Not me but my son, for he is only a child!"_

_A moment passed in tense silence and then without warning a glowing figure appeared. Dagda stood before Lily, robes and white hair blowing in an unfelt wind. Looking upon the young woman, a smile touched his lips. He had known his meeting would someday come. Lily opened her eyes and gasped at the sight of him._

_"Hello, child of my land," said Dagda, voice caring and affectionate. "You know who I am?"_

_The Lily nodded stunned. "You're Dagda," she whispered breathy. "God of complete knowledge and warrior of the Irish people. Eternal enemy against the Lone Power, Rhita Gawr. I've read about you."_

_Dagda's green eyes twinkled with an inner light as he gazed at the young Lily. He wanted nothing more than to hold her and tell her everything would be fine, but she didn't remember him._

_"Child, I have come to answer your call. The dark one who wants your child will not get to him. I promise you this. I have seen his future in the Lia Fail."_

_Lily's green eyes widened. "The stone of destiny…"_

_Dagda nodded. "Your child's destiny does not end here. He's one of the Chosen. A Champion." He moved to the crib where Lily had laid the small form of baby Harry. Dagda stared down at the serene baby who had not emitted a sound throughout the frantic ordeal. Dagda gracefully bent over the rail of the crib and pressed his lips to Harry's brow in a light kiss. He pulled away and where his lips touched there was now a glowing mark. A second passed and the glow receded leaving a thin scar in a lightning bolt shape. _

_"He is one of mine now. I have given him my mark and forever more will he be under my protection." Dagda turned his gaze to Lily. "Lily, Daughter of the Flower Courts, you know you will not live another day, but I will see you soon in the Otherworld. Goodbye… for now."_

_The god gave her a look of such sorrow that was lost upon her. Before she could say anything, she disappeared in a flash of light. Lily turned to Harry and touched a finger to the fresh scar on his brow. It was as if time suddenly resumed itself and the noises outside of the room suddenly grew into a roar. Lily turned back to the doorway as the door blocking the room started to shake and tremor in its setting. _

_Lily turned to the young Harry a sad look in her eyes. One lone tear trailed down her cheek as Lily Potter gazed down one last time at her son. "I love you, Baby."_

_She turned back to the doorway sadness leaving her eyes. The sadness was replaced by stone cold determination. Her green eyes hardened and her posture straightened ready for the approaching battle. She raised her wand as the door in front of her was blown off its hinges. A dark figure strode into the room in a menacingly black cloak. _

_Lily's red hair blew behind her as the untraceable wind picked up more strongly. Her form still glowed with an eerie emerald light. Her green eyes glowed too. From edge to edge a glowing green filled her eyes. No white appeared in either eye. A chilling smile appeared on her face as she stared her killer down._

_"You'll have to earn your kill here, you muggle hating fucker," she said in a whisper that carried intense coldness behind it. "I promise you that you'll feel a world of hurt tonight. Before the night is over you'll know the true meaning of a mother's fury."_

_

* * *

_  
Harry snapped awake, his breath coming in loud pants. "What a load of shit! I'm…I'm half god!"

"That you are."

His head turned around, and he stood up slowly, all the while not taking his eyes off the figure before him. Glaring, he greeted the deity before him.

"Hello, Grandfather. Fancy a chat, do you?"


	2. Knowledge is Power

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter either. It belongs to its creator J.K. Rowling and probably Warner Bros. too. I'm not too sure about that. This piece of literature is simply the work of a humble fan. I also credit Laurell K. Hamilton and Jim Butcher for various themes, subjects, or references that I may use. It won't be a crossover but certain elements from the series will be used.

* * *

:Author Notes:

This will be leaning more toward alternate reality. It will have the same characters just a different spin on things. If you're not a fan of strong cursing or maybe even violence and bloodshed then there is a good chance that this story isn't for you.

* * *

"I know things. Knowledge is power. With power comes responsibility." Harry Dresden, _Fool Moon: Book Two of the Dresden Files._

**Slave of Dragons  
**Potter "Year Two"

Chapter One: Knowledge is Power

By: Water Mage

"Harold—" Dagda began, but Harry quickly interrupted him.

"I don't even want to hear it. Was Lyrio a plant?" demanded Harry, folding his arms across his chest, glaring defiantly up at the deity, his grandfather. "A fairy, one of your kindred, just happened to be here. Yeah right."

Dagda bored his green eyes, the same color as Lily's, into the identical colored eyes of his grandson. "I swear upon the Nevernever that I did not send Lyrio here. You are Faerie and the rhythm of Song of the Green beats from your core, unconsciously attracting Fey creatures to you. Lyrio had no idea who you were. He was unknowingly drawn to your Faerie blood." His green eyes looked heavenward as a deep sigh left his throat. "You were never meant to find out like this."

"When was I supposed to find out?" asked Harry skeptically, sarcasm laced through his voice. "When I was getting my ass kicked by a demon possessed Dark Lord of black magic."

Harry wondered inwardly did he sound a bit bitter. Hmmm… Hell yeah he did. The ass whooping that almost cost his life still haunted him. He had never been hurt so badly at one time a day in his life. And now he had found someone to lay blame onto. Sure, he walked into ass whooping, but his savior didn't save him. It was like a police officer seeing a beating taking place, and instead of taking care of the attacker, the officer gives his gun to the victim and tells him good luck. Harry wondered briefly if he had gone insane to be thinking of wild metaphors at a time like this. That little thought still needed further study.

"On the day of your sixteenth birthday was the day the truth was to come out," Dagda replied, softly. "Lyrio is a dew fairy. They have a penchant for troublemaking and mischief."

Harry shook his head, eyes still glazed over with the information he had recently received. It was all so much. And too soon. None of it made sense and yet made perfect sense at the same time. He looked up at Dagda and swallowed, seeing features that he saw, too, in his mother's face. It was eerie. Those eyes and the look of serenity, they reflected the photographs he viewed of his mother. It was like looking at her but not. Heaving suddenly, he tried to regain his breath. Harry opened his mouth to ask a question. It took a couple of tries but the words came.

"If my mother," he didn't know what else to call her, while standing before the god. "was a god, why did she die? Gods are immortal. I know that much from school."

And he said all that with at stuttering… Yes, making some progress.

"When Lilith was sent to Earth. Her godhood was still in tact, but her powers and abilities were bound. Her wizarding magic was merely droplets of her godly power that couldn't be contained. What the Killing Curse did was banish her essence from the mortal plane. She is '_dead'_ only in the sense that she cannot walk this plane again. She lives in Otherworld in her true godly form."

Something hit Harry in his chest. It wasn't an actual force, but a feeling from deep within. It grabbed at his heart and he was sure it skipped a beat. He kept his composure on the outside, not letting Dagda see how his answer had phased him. His mother wasn't dead. She was alive. Living and breathing in the Otherworld, once again a goddess of the gods. Harry swallowed. Did she want to see him, he wondered. A part of him longed to have his mothers arm wrap around him and hold him tight, and just tell him that everything was going to be okay. There was no way that she could walk the mortal planes again, but Harry could go to her. He would see her in her true form. Lilith, daughter of Dagda, and goddess of protection. Her earthly form of Lily Evans Potter was only a distant echo of how she truly appeared. He bet she was more beautiful than any woman he had ever seen.

"You wish to see her," Dagda mummered, his voice coming out thoughtful. He paused and Harry felt those green eyes bare into him, assessing him for all he was worth. "Lilith has not laid eyes on you since you were an infant, and yet you two are so much alike."

Harry cleared his suddenly dry throat. "What do you mean?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound as needy as he thought.

A slow smile spread across Dagda's face. "Your mannerisms are alike in many ways."

"Does my mum know you're here?"

Dagda nodded, still wearing that smile. "Yes, she does. Lilith says that she loves you and thinks about you everyday. The time is not now but soon you will meet."

I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. Harry chanted in his head, thinking of anything to keep his emotions from welling up inside him and spilling over. Actually knowing that his mother, his real mother loved him and thought about him made him soar like a fucking schoolgirl with a boyband complex. Just hearing the words passed on to him caused him to feel all warm and mushy inside. Harry really wanted to just shoot himself for feeling like some sentimental fool. He wasn't good with the warm and fuzzy feelings. He was supposed to the toughest kid in the Empire. No other of the Chosen Descendents was as hard as him. He had taken human life before and felt no regret. Hell, there were quite a few kids at school he felt like taking a rock to the head to, but he had to face the facts. He was a marshmallow.

Suddenly, Harry grinned. Dagda blinked. His head tilted to the side, curiosity swimming within his gaze. The smile came so quickly and so spontaneously that it was frankly unnerving. It was bright as any light bulb but it lacked all the warmth. Harry cocked his head, still smiling that creepy, forbidding smile.

"I have all the information I need to know," Harry said, smiling. "Now leave."

Dagda's brow furrowed as confusion washed over his face. "I don't understand. Harold—"

Harry held up his hand, forestalling Dagda's sentence. He didn't know how dangerous this act was. Maybe the god would strike him down for disrespecting him or he would be slapped into the middle of next week. Right now, he really wasn't caring whether he provoked his grandfather's wraith or not. He was feeling something that he was more familiar with than the warm and fuzzy. It was something that he could rely on and find comfort in. An emotion he knew so intimately as rage. He welcomed it like an old friend. Feeding all his old feelings into it, making it go from simmer into a boiling substance that wanted to spill out. Those green eyes burned with fury as he took the rage that bubbled in his gut just let it go. On another level, he could feel it ravel up his throat, and then it erupt forth.

"What you don't understand is that I don't like you," said Harry coldly, delivering a heated glare. "I'm grateful for the shield around the compound and all, but I don't like you. I hate to even look at you. So do me a favor and get the hell out of my face."

Dagda sucked in a sharp breath. "Harold, where is this coming from?"

"All this time you knew where I was. I'm not saying you had to take me away, but there were no visits, cards, anything. Wait, I can't forget about that time where you showed up and gave me some power to face off against Voldemort, both times. Once, when I was an infant and the other was last year in the chamber under the school." Harry snapped his fingers, pretending to come to a sudden revelation. "Can't forget how well that last act of help worked. I nearly died!"

"Harold, you must understand—"

"No, you don't understand," Harry spat, interrupting Dagda once more. "I. Almost. Died. I was getting my ass kicked but you were nowhere in sight. Voldemort was only a second away from killing me. If my father hadn't stepped in…" Harry broke off, his anger made his words less coherent and sensible. He took a few breaths to calm down and regain his momentum before he continued. "I don't like you. I don't need you. You are my grandfather in blood only. So I say again. Get off my property. And out of my face."

Dagda took a step forward. "I'm your grandfather, child. You can't possibly mean that."

Harry stared. His green eyes bore into green eyes so identical to his own. Except Harry's eyes reflected no emotions whatsoever. They were empty offering no remorse for his proclamation. Harry offered no answer. He was through explaining himself and how he felt. Right now he was tired. Tired of the shit that people so much 'wiser' than him put him through. Dumbledore, with his bumble and snore ways, was always conniving and scheming, like any old man, but at the cost of Harry's safety. Hiring Quirrell to the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts last year, was a major and life threatening example. The aging Headmaster had to have known that Professor Quirrell, Voldemort, ancient Demon Monarch, whatever the hell he, it, was pure evil. Dot the 'i' and emphasis on the ev- part of _evil_. Gritting his teeth, preparing to really tell Dagda off, Harry inhaled a deep breath. He was ready to open his mouth and let loose, but stopped seeing the resigned look shadow across Dagda's eyes.

Dagda inclined his head slightly, eyes still clouded with resignation. "If this is what you wish, child."

He stepped backward and a golden glow surrounded his body, simultaneously a brighter gold light shined from his chest region. It split into two separate lights, one traveling up the length of his body and the other going down. Harry watched as his grandfather dematerialized right before his eyes. Harry blinked. Then blinked again. Teleportation. It was much, much, more flashier than apparition, that was for sure.

"Fake ass teleport," Harry muttered, heat coating his voice. He kicked a rock on the ground, the scowl he had worn through the meeting still on his face. He shook his head, staring up at the drifting clouds. "He may as well have tapped his chest and said 'energize'. I know he stole that teleport from Star Trek."

'_These scheming old men, wizards, gods, whoever they are', _Harry thought, Dagda and Dumbledore flashing across his mind's eye. '_They are not going to pull my strings this year. I'm not a puppet. So far they've been playing chess, and I've been playing checkers. Always, they've been two moves ahead of me... Well I think its time for me to take up their game.'

* * *

_

"A god? Like Zeus with the lightning wielding, Ares making with the war, god?"

Harry sighed. This question he had been getting for the past ten minutes since he had set foot in his father's study. Todd and Dylan stood together near the chair that Killian occupied. They had been startled when Harry burst into the room, gasping from the long run, and mumbling inaudibly under his breath, about liars and gods. He fell into his father's lap, shaking. It took the three of them almost ten minutes to calm him down. His nerves were shot. After a glass of water, Harry recited back the events of the last hour and a half. Now after they had gotten the full story, their questions had filled the silence of the room, weighing on Harry like a ton of bricks. He tried to answer what he could, but he didn't have all the answers. Hell, he had just as many questions himself. Was he different now that he knew this? But that was impossible another part of him said because this had always been apart of him, knowing his lineage now didn't change that he was still himself.

"Yes, that kind of god," answered Harry with a sigh of tiredness to Dylan's question. "I'm a demi god, I guess the correct title is."

Harry laid his head on the table, feeling the urge to bang his head against it, but instead just laid there. It was too much. All of it. So much was happening to him, all the time, and it seemed like the tide of changes wasn't going to let up soon. Suddenly, his body felt weary as if he had been up all night. All he wanted to do now was sleep. He had a vague feeling in his heart that maybe if he went to sleep then this would be all over. Like a dream. It was a forlorn hope, but he couldn't help it. He didn't see the concerned look that Killian aimed at him, but he did feel the hand that settled between his shoulder blades, rubbing at the muscles there, smoothing away the knots found. He looked up meeting his father's gentle smile with a look of thanks.

"Are you going to be okay, Tenshi?" asked Killian. He tucked back a lock of Harry's hair that fell from the band tying back the rest of his hair.

Harry shrugged. "I guess," he mumbled not sounding the least bit sure of his answer. "It's just a little too much. Me a demi god, that's so unreal. But it's the truth. I saw my mother's powers being bound. I saw it all, everything, even how I survived Voldemort's Killing Curse."

Harry shivered a bit at that last memory. Seeing the Killing Curse delivered live and in technicolor was something that wouldn't leave his mind for a long time. He could still see it. That green light that tearing through air faster than the speed of light, carrying with it the chilling power of the of the Grim Reaper itself, which was only a fraction of the true power of the King of the Dead himself. Harry shuddered at a passing thought. His eyes were the same color as the emerald light of the Killing Curse. Was this fate's sick way of making him never forget what he's lived through? It was just too ironic that the only person to only survive the Avada Kedevra would have eyes the same shade as the spell's light. He could just see the headlines now. Harry Potter-McKnight, the Boy Who Lived, the Miracle Child with the Killing Curse Eyes.

"You said that Dagda hinted your mother was still alive?" Todd asked. His face was pensive as he thought through the tale. Todd could always be counted on as the one to put aside his emotions and think in more logical, deep terms. A key reason he was the Director of the Division of Logistics and Operations of McKnight and Steele. He was in charge of setting up and keeping track of _dealings_ both official and unofficial.

Harry nodded, sighing again. "Yeah. He said the Killing Curse only banished her mortal essence from this plane of existence. She is only dead in the sense that she can't appear in the mortal world anymore. I guess she's in the Otherworld. Somewhere in Faerie I assume. It's not like I can go there, so I guess she may as well be dead."

Harry smartly left off the fact that there was a possibility that he _could_ go there. But he wanted to keep that to himself for some time longer. He didn't want to know how his father would react to finding out that Harry was thinking of finding a way to breach the barrier between worlds. Ha. Like he would like that. Harry hid his snort. His father barely liked him going to Scotland for school. Harry thought he had been fine with that, but the next thing he knew he had a team of bodyguards, secretly keeping tabs on him, sending timed weekly reports back to him. So, telling Killian about the thoughts in his head on that matter was a negative. Definitely. He did _not_ want to go back to school with a tracking device planted in the molar in the back of his mouth. That would be all kinds of uncool.

"Faerie?" questioned Killian, eyebrow rising. "You say it like it's a place. I thought that was a race of people. Like your mother and grandfather."

Harry thought hard to the book he checked out once, months ago really, at Hogwarts. "The Otherworld is a big place. If you would gather the entire spirit realm together, Otherworld would be the sum. It's not a place like Earth. The land, the weather, all of it isn't real. The world itself is a shadow world; the entirety of it is magical. It can be formed and unformed with powerful thoughts."

"Oh, I think I get it," said Todd, slowly. "If the Otherworld is the entire realm of spirit then theoretically, any spirit realm one could imagine would be in the Otherworld somehow."

Killian looked thoughtful. "So Heaven, Hell, Olympus, Tartarus… They all could somehow be reached from the Otherworld."

Todd nodded. "That's a sound theory."

"The Otherworld goes by many names," Harry continued after a moment's pause. "The Great Beyond, the Everafter, or the Nevernever. Most call it Otherworld. The parts closest to the mortal world are completely controlled by the Fey. This part of the spirit realm is called Faerie; it has the closest ties with our own world. As a result, Faerie resembles the real world in a lot of ways. The land and the sky are constant, but other than that it still isn't Earth. Reality doesn't apply the same ways as it does here."

Killian regarded Harry with a puzzled gaze. "How do you know all of this, kiddo? I knew you had been doing some research into your heritage, but this sounds like almost like first-hand knowledge."

Harry opened his mouth to say, he read it from a book, but he stopped. That wasn't true. He could sense it on another level. He didn't get all that from a book. Some of it sure, but the technical aspects, no. Most wizards who even knew the way into the Otherworld were afraid to journey there, especially because the easiest entrance led you right into Faerie. And that was a dangerous and treacherous place to journey if you didn't have safe passage assured from some faerie. Most who went there never came back. Harry shook his head, paling. How in the hell did he know all of that. He had read that wizards sometimes stumbled into the Otherworld or the known passages were lost to the tales of time, but the knowledge he had on the subject, was something he didn't have before. How as this possible he asked himself. A part of him suspected that old bastard Dumbledore. The more logical side of him slapped the hell out of him and made him see reason. This was something different than the crap the Headmaster pulls. No this was some other force at work. Like a light turning on his head, the answer came to his mind.

"Lyrio," Harry whispered, his eyes wide, and face slack with disbelief. He turned to his father. "I think Lyrio, when he showed me mother's memories, something… I don't know… her thoughts or some of her knowledge stayed with me." Harry sighed. "I should have known there would be a consequence. There is no simple making a deal with a Faerie. There's always more to it." _Stupid, little fairy. I wish Peter Pan would just kick his ass._

Dylan took a step forward. "Is this a bad thing?"

"I haven't decided," Harry replied with a shrug of his shoulders. _It hasn't taken over my mind…that's a plus._ His thoughts went unsaid.

Todd shook his head. "My knowledge of mythical gods only goes so far as the Olympians, Egyptians, and vaguely the Norse gods. Do you have any idea of how their pantheon is set up? How high do your Grandfather and Mother rank on the ladder of power? This could give us an idea of what to expect from you power wise as you get older."

Harry found that the answer came to him easier than he thought it would. Was it because he knew it already or was the leftover knowledge he gathered from the visions of the past he went through. Did he know for sure? No, and right now he didn't care. He was too tired to some in-depth analyzing of his inner core. So when he opened his mouth and gave his answer he didn't question its origins. He really didn't want to think about what this meant for him years later on down the road. He just wanted to think about the now for now. Worry about the present and let the future deal itself out.

"The Faerie are easily divided. There is the Seelie Court which is ruled by the King of Light and Illusions. Seelie are associated with light, summer and daytime. They are usually the more kind and helpful Fey. Their polar opposite is the Unseelie Court, ruled by the Queen of Air and Darkness. Unseelie belong to darkness, winter and night. Those that hold extremely high positions within either Court are the Sidhe, their nobles."

_Okay, that was a definite ten on the weird factor,_ Harry thought, swallowing heavily. _That came to me too easily._ The day was only getting stranger as it wore on. Goody.

Killian looked at Harry, really looked at him. The way father's look at their children when they can tell something is different about them. "All that is more than textbook knowledge isn't it?"

Harry nodded. "I can't put my finger on it, but I know this is what my mother knew. Her knowledge is intermingled within my own. I know all of these things but I can't go deeper. It's coming more like instinct than anything. I can say this though," Harry stated, breaking off. He swallowed then met his father's eyes. "Dagda and the pantheon of gods that he rules are higher than the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. He is the High King over all Faerie. He and the rest of the Tuatha Dé Danaan are the children of the High Goddess of the Earth. They are very, very powerful."

"I don't know if I like this," replied Killian, frowning. "I hope this information is only temporary. I don't like the idea of foreign information swirling around your brain."

Harry laughed dryly. "How do you think I feel Dad? Do you think I like spouting off at the mouth without even realizing what I'm saying, but knowing it at the same time? It's not the greatest feeling!"

Killian grabbed Harry's hand and squeezed them. "Please son, I didn't mean it like that. I…I'm just worried about you."

The anger left as quickly as it came, and Harry smiled weakly. "Sorry Dad. I know you're worried. It's weird for me too."

"Weird for all of us," Killian replied with a half smile.

There was a silence in the room for a minute. It wasn't one of those weird awkward silences where everyone looks confused and looked at anything but each other. This was a comfortable silence. Each was lost in their own thoughts. Thinking about what they had learned, they each tried to apply it to their futures. What would their lives be like knowing that gods were one degree of separation from them? In the future would they have to fight to prevent Harry from being taken to his family? His _real_ family. Killian shut his eyes tightly, willing that thought clear of his mind. He wouldn't let anyone take his son away from him. Be they man, wizard, god. They would have hell of time getting his little boy away him. For Death was not just a title he had earned lightly.

"If your Grandfather is the King of Kings of the Faerie," said Dylan thoughtfully, breaking the silence. "and your mother is a high princess. That makes you…"

Todd caught onto his train of thought. "Harold Potter-McKnight, God Prince of the Faerie."

_Oh fuck…_ Harry went rigid as if lightning struck him.

At that, whatever energy he had left that was keeping him going vanished. The realization that he was now facing was too much. The events of the day caught up to him and swirled around his mind with a vengeance. He stood up, suddenly finding that he room was too small, and that the air in it was being sucked out. The fatigue from Lyrio forcing the visions upon him finally washed upon him, too, as he let his guard down. A choked sound left his mouth.

His father called his name, but his voice, which was right next to him, only seemed like a distant echo. His world swirled around him and in panic he grabbed at the back of the chair, but only succeeding in knocking it to the ground. Suddenly, legs buckled and then they just gave out. Harry's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell backward, unconscious.

Over the passing weeks, Harry tried hard to keep the events of that day from his mind. After he had passed out, or fainted as Dylan so often reminded him, he had been in a sullen mood. Even when trying to concentrate, wiping his mind blank of all thoughts, somehow the events of that day came coming to the forefront of his mind. He had known his mother was different. He had assumed that she was just some faerie Changeling who maybe got left on a doorstep as child, like any other of the rare Changeling children. Never in a million years would he have even guessed that she was the daughter of Dagda, ruler of the gods of the Faerie. Thinking back Harry should have guessed that the god's interest in him was more than a harmless one. Now Harry was kicking himself for not putting all the clues together in the first place. Now that he knew what he really was, they had been staring at him plain in the face. His link to the Tuatha Dé Danaan that lay within him, his ability to See the Unseen, his durability. Who survives Avada Kadevra and comes out completely unscathed except for a scar? Not a scar, as Lyrio so bluntly put it, but the mark of Dagda. The god himself wore a similar mark upon his brow, but it shined a glimmering gold. Harry could have punched himself in the throat for being so blind.

"Harry, Earth to Harry?"

A hand waved in front of his glazed over eyes. He blinked and the room came into the focus with rush of colors and sounds. He looked around and found that no one had really noticed his daydreaming. Riley sat in front of him with an upturned smile. Harry suddenly remembered where he was and his cheeks flushed. Dammit, he was being such a flake. Spacing out at his own birthday party, he felt like a jackass.

"You alright there, Harry?" Riley asked, biting her bottom lip in a habit she often did when worried. "I've been calling your name for a minute now."

Harry put on a smile, pushing away his brooding thoughts. "Yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking and I got a bit carried away."

Riley smirked, her lips sparkling with some kind of gloss that she applied to it. "It's a good thing you didn't have your little moment during your cake cutting. I would have pushed your face into the cake to snap you out of it. You know how I do."

Harry grimaced and rolled his eyes, and then replied back dryly, "Yes Riley, we all know how unlady like you are."

"Hey, you little snot," Riley snapped, hitting him playfully. "I am the epitome of what a lady should be. I dressed the part for your little party so you had better be nice."

Harry grinned and roved his eyes up and down her. Riley was right. The "I will wear blue jeans till the day I day" Rilana Adams had actually went against her anthem of 'comfort' before 'image'. She was wearing a white mini skirt that matched a turquoise short sleeved top. Her pale blond hair was out of its usual braid and it was free, hanging down her back in waves, brushed so that it shone nicely. Her makeup was light only accentuating her features, and some simple silver earrings and a matching necklace finished off her look. All in all, she looked good. And she knew it. It's not like she was bragging about it, but she knew that when she cleaned up, she cleaned up damn good.

As soon as Harry had seen Riley he had flocked to her. There was no way that he wanted to be trapped in a conversation with anyone of his father's business partners children, or his 'friends' that he had from his old primary school that he hadn't spoken to in almost two years. Those bitches were probably plotting his demise or something knowing them and their catty ways. He had only invited them because Killian thought it wouldn't do for their parents to think that Harry had gotten a big head and forgot his manners. Whatever. They were snobs, or _socialites_, as the papers so nicely put them, and snubbing their children would surely not put them in a good light media wise. He could see the little vultures circling the room, eyeing him, waiting for a good opportunity to cut into his conversation with Riley, just to suck up to him. It was sickening and irritating. It was irritating only in the fact that he couldn't slap one of the little piglets, and send them scampering back to mummy and daddy, tail between their legs. The humor of that image almost sent him careening off his chair cackling loudly.

Riley eyed Harry sharply, eyebrow cocked. "Why are you grinning if I may ask?"

Flushing, Harry wiped the grin from his face. "What?" he asked back innocently. "Cant a lad grin on his birthday?"

"If that lad wasn't you, then I would say yes," she replied bluntly.

Harry just grinned mysteriously and shrugged his shoulders, that Gallic shrug that meant nothing and everything all at once. She sighed, sensing he wasn't in a talking mood. Her father had and Killian both had warned her Harry had been in a down mood the last few weeks. It wasn't obvious to everyone but those who knew him. She personally thought there was an underlining sadness or something in the way he spoke. Blake Adams, her father, had said it was in the way he moved. Killian had said it was in everything that he did. It was something that hovered just above the surface, giving off a vibe of tension all around him.

"So," said Riley, after a moment's silence, trying to keep the conversation moving. "You ready for Hogwarts?"

Harry nodded. Something tingled in his gut at the very thought of going back to school. An anxious feeling that made him want to literally hop in his chair. Calm. Breath. He thought. Then he answered, "More than anything. With Quirrell gone, I'm thinking that maybe I won't have to constantly look over my shoulder this year."

"So glad that scum bucket is gone," smiled Riley happily. "I could almost do a little dance."

Harry pulled out crisp bill. "Oh! Please!" He paused. "I only have singles so I hope you're fine with that."

She laughed and flipped him off. A disappointed look crossed over her face suddenly. "There is still Snape though," she muttered darkly. "That bastard is still there. You're lucky that he only dislikes Ravenclaws. He damn well hates Gryffindors."

Harry chuckled. "Its safe to say that Snape hates me for reasons unknown too. But you Gryffindors are a little…hyperactive when you guys are together. I heard last year one of your housemates tried to fix her makeup while in his class. He snatched her compact from her hand, threw it at the wall, and then tried to ring her neck."

"Oh that. I was there. Timberly called him a cocksucker after he threw her compact. It got silent so Ryan tried to start up a slow clap. And that did not go over well…" Riley trailed, shaking her head at the memory of explosion that followed that retort.

Harry stared at her, incredulously. "And you wonder why he doesn't like you Gryffindors. You preps are bloody Hellraisers."

Riley tapped her chin for a moment, looking thoughtful. "You're right. It's a bit weird though that everybody thinks we're the school saints though."

"Angels to some. Demons to others," smirked Harry.

A shadow fell over them and Harry looked up. Killian stood in front of them, his suit tailored to his tall frame fit perfectly. It was a deep black with an executive cut, worn with black shirt and a shiny black tie. Not everyone could pull off the all black look in formal wear and actually make it look good. But Killian did it and more. With a suit that cost over a grand it damn well better had look good Harry figured. Unconsciously, Harry straightened his white tie, and smoothed out the wrinkles in his blue shirt, before buttoning up the suit jacket. His father had gone to all the trouble to throw Harry the party and buy him the suit, and it wouldn't do to look like an ungrateful snob. Even though he wasn't having the best time, he knew damn well how to fake like this was the best damn day of his life.

"Harry, you've been moping over here since the cake cutting," said Killian, his eyes reflecting worry. "Is something the matter?"

Harry shook his head, putting on a smile. "No, I'm just a bit tired I guess. Saying hello and thanking so many people for coming was an exercise."

"I think I'll go talk to my dad," said Riley quickly, slinking off. She was feeling a tad bit uncomfortable.

Killian sighed. "Harry, please try and enjoy your self today. It's your birthday. It's the day to leave behind thoughts of gods, faeries, fogged futures, and uncertainties. Just enjoy the day."

"I'm really trying to Dad," he replied sincerely. "It's just hard. It keeps popping up. But I'll seriously try and stop thinking about it and enjoy my birthday."

The grin that lit up his father's face made Harry smile in response. "That's my boy. I know Zachariah Winterstead has wanted to talk to you since he got here with his uncle."

Harry's eyebrow's rose up. "Lord Byron is here?" _Damn, even royalty is here. It's just my twelfth birthday. Do these fools think this is the party of the year?_

Killian nodded, still smiling. "Yes kiddo. He's here. You will take my place someday and they want to form ties that will grow stronger with time."

"I guess," Harry mumbled, sliding off his chair to stand up.

He could see the band on stage playing a slow number, the guitarist fingers strummed the strings slowly as his eyes closed, losing himself in the beauty of the song. Harry put on a fake smile, _Showtime. _He moved through the guest and chatted it up as he had seen his father do countless times before. He nodded politely and accepted the hearty claps on the on the back and the pats on the head the adults gave him. Inside he seethed and glared, and mentally threatened to rip their arms off. Of course he kept that to himself. It wouldn't do for him to be a bad host. No not that. Anything but that.

He kept up all appearance for a solid hour before he began to get so bored and a little irritated at the _look how much you've grown's_ that he had to move outside through the balcony. He had tried to catch Riley once or twice but she had been entranced by a stocky teen, a few years older than her who seemed to be giving her undivided attention. Riley had stared at him with a silly smile on her face and stars in her eyes. Harry had even grimaced when he heard her do the stereotypical fake girl laugh. You know the laugh that girls do when they like a guy. Laugh at any of his jokes, with the most obnoxious, pixyish laugh that they have in their disposal. It was only one of many tricks that the female gender had in the arsenal. And the male gender knew no better. Thinking they were being really listened to, females slowly weaved him into her trap. Pulling the old okie dok. Play good, submissive girlfriend, then when marriage comes, you slap a ring on his finger then take over his life.

Well, that's how Todd explained it to him.

Harry walked to the back of the patio and leaned against the stone railing. He looked up into the stars, watching the twinkling lights above him shine brightly in the twilight sky. He tuned out he sounds of the party that drifted out through the open doors. Harry looked ahead as the clicking of shoe heels hitting the concrete registered. He only barely managed back a groan. Instead he settled for an impassive look that was surprising neutral. Walking toward him flanked by four other guys was Zachariah Winterstead. The favored nephew of Lord Byron, royalty, whose family line can be traced back so far that their blood was probably older than dirt. Zachariah was only about three inches taller than Harry, with wavy brown hair and light brown eyes. His face was full of sharp features that made you want to cock your head and just wonder why looked the way he did. It wasn't as if someone beat him with an ugly stick, but his appearance was unique. A more _classic _face.

"Harry, how good it is to see you again," smiled Zachariah, his upper crust accent making Harry cringe.

He smiled a rather weak smile. "I'm fine, Zachariah. Yourself?" Harry wanted to shoot himself for asking that follow-up question. Now the other boy had an opening for engaging in a conversation with him. _Fuck, here we go._

"I'm simply smashing," Zachariah answered, smiling brightly. "How are you, old boy?"

_Old boy_? He decided to let them one go. He answered back with a civil fine. Harry looked to the four guys standing around. They looked more like miniature models or something. They were good looking in way that average males weren't. _Oh great, I've been cornered by the P.B.C. The Pretty Boy Clique. Joy of Joys. I wonder do they all have tee shirts and badges. _Harry snorted and Zachariah gave him a suspicious look, but Harry waved him off feigning a sneeze. He nodded and continued into some story he was telling.

"So like I was saying those with the right blood shouldn't be allowed into the country club," droned on Zachariah, five minutes later and still going strong on some topic or another. "I don't understand why they would even let commoners—"

"Oh you're still talking." Harry blinked and he came back into focus.

Harry had caught what the other mostly said but he hadn't really invested full attention. _Shame, shame._

Zachariah looked like he swallowed a lemon. His face looked all screwed up like he wanted to shout but he couldn't quite get all the words out right. So he settled for pursing his lips together in a thin line, looking like some pissed off child with a fit. Harry had his eyes trained on Zachariah but from his peripheral vision he could see the P.B.C. move around so they formed a sort of semi circle around the two of them. If anyone looking were to come outside their view of Harry and Zachariah would be blocked. Harry sighed._ These bloody piss ants really are working my last nerve._

"Get out of my way," Harry said calmly. _See he could be cordial when he wanted to be._

Zachariah crossed his arms and fixed Harry with a malicious smile. "No."

_It's always somebody_. "What do you mean no?" asked Harry sharply. _This bitch has five seconds to get out of my face. One._

The boy's dark smile turned into a smirk. "You think you're so much better than me. I know all about you," Zachariah said haughtily.

_Two._

"My uncle says your father is nothing but a liar and a thief. And you're nothing but a bastard whose blood is as dirty as a street waif."

_What the fuck! Three…_

"You're just some bloke who got adopted and has no true parents. If you did they wouldn't be worth much anyway. I bet your father was a drunk who raped your filthy whore of a mother—"

Harry never made it to five. His vision clouded over and a dull pop sounded in his ears as he began to see red. A false look of concern flashed across his face as he leaned in really close to Zachariah's face. The boy stopped his tirade and his face lost its sneer and it froze in confusion.

"Have you ever had a nose job?" questioned Harry, staring at him still looking concerned.

The other boy barely shook his head and snapped out a "no" before the heel of Harry's hand went flying through the air, connecting solidly with the nasal bone. There was a low pop and crack and Harry grinned in satisfaction at the breaking of the bone. Howling, Zachariah went to his knees holding his nose, thick blood escaping from his hands. He opened his mouth to yell out but Harry brought his knee up quickly, aiming and hitting the hands covering his nose. His hands smashed backward onto the broken bits of bone, causing even more damage, and spilling thick globs of mucus and almost black blood onto the ground. Harry didn't give the _P.B.C. _time to react. He caught one with a roundhouse across the head, sending him reeling back. He kicked another in the gut quickly; using the spinning momentum from the roundhouse to give him needed speed. The last two came out him and Harry dodged a punch, grabbed the arm, twisted and flipped the boy onto his back. He kicked him in the knee cap at an angle. Above or below, didn't matter, just enough. Hot dam. The scream was answer enough he needed to know that he dislocated the bone. The last boy settled into some kind of fighting stance that had his legs crouched and his arms did this weird slant, a soft of L. One arm going stiff and straight, the other one bent and fist in the air.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Power Rangers?"

"A mix of Jujitsu and Tae Kwon Doe," was the bland reply.

Harry shrugged and settled into his Aikido stance, "Impressive."

Harry barely saw the fist that came out him.It was a blur of darkness that he barely managed to avoid. He didn't however avoid the kick that caught him the gut, making him double over in agony, as all the air left his lungs in one go. Harry fell to his knees, avoiding the kick that would have connected with his head. He felt the whoosh of air as it passed overhead. The boy kicked again and by reflex Harry caught the foot coming toward his head with both hands. He twisted sharply then pushed back sending the other boy to the ground, landing hard on his back. Harry quickly rose to his feet and brought his leg down hard onto the other boy's stomach. Then with a well aimed kick he hit the side of the boy's body, hoping that he had at least cracked a rib. Breathing heavily, Harry looked at the four boys on the ground, who were either passed out from the pain or were still groaning in misery. He walked over to Zachariah who was right where he left him, on his knees and bleeding. By the pale, shaky expression, Harry imagined that he most likely had seen everything. Bonus.

Harry bent over at the waist so that they were eye to eye. He let Zachariah see him for who he truly was. He dropped all the pretenses. The light behind his eyes died replaced by something that was much, much darker. It was anger, cold, and terrible. It grabbed at the other boy and froze him in his place. Harry could see the fear swimming in those brown eyes and it almost made him smile. Almost.

"You made a wrong choice in talking about my parents," Harry murmured, a slow edge to his voice. He regarded the bleeding boy, cold and distant and disgusted. "I could have broken your neck and not felt a tiny bit of remorse." He leaned closer till they were nose to nose, only a hairs breath apart. He kept his voice haunting and cold. "Tell anyone about this and I'll fucking kill you. Don't test me on this. Tell anyone and that will be your 'The End'."

Zachariah nodded quickly, his hands now totally red and quiet whimpers left his throat.

"Good," nodded Harry. "I'm glad you agree." He paused, looking introspective. "You know, I was all ready to kill you, but I'm honestly going to decide let you leave. That will give me the chance to tell my therapist I made progress."

Harry spun on his heel and walked toward the doors where the opening chords of some jazzy number was playing. Whistling a cheery tune, he walked with pep in his step, ignoring the dull throb of pain from the hits he took. He ran his hand over his hair to make sure it was still in place, and smoothed out the wrinkles in his suit. With a breath he walked back into the ballroom, feeling a lot better now then when he did earlier in the evening.

_Who knew kicking a boyband's ass would cheer me up. The nights starting to look up._


	3. Floating back to Neverland

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter either. It belongs to its creator J.K. Rowling and probably Warner Bros. too. I'm not too sure about that. This piece of literature is simply the work of a humble fan. I also credit Laurell K. Hamilton and Jim Butcher for various themes, subjects, or references that I may use. It won't be a crossover but certain elements from the series will be used.

* * *

:Author Notes:

This will be leaning more toward alternate reality. It will have the same characters just a different spin on things. If you're not a fan of strong cursing or maybe even violence and bloodshed then there is a good chance that this story isn't for you.

* * *

"They _float_, they _float_, Georgie, and when you're down here with me, you'll float too—" Pennywise the Dancing Clown, _It_

**Slave of Dragons**  
Potter "Year Two"

Chapter Two: Floating back to Neverland

By: Water Mage

Harry could feel the walls close in around him. There was nowhere to go. He was stuck imprisoned in this cell for another day. It was torture. It was inhumane to subject one to this continuous environment for an entire month. Harry sighed and glanced out of his window. The moon hung high in the sky surrounded by a sea of white stars. Grounded. He, Harry Potter-McKnight was grounded. Usually, his father's _grounding_ only lasted a day or two. Harry would work his charm and get off without having to serve the full sentence. But no, not this time. His father actually meant it when he said he was grounded for a month. Harry sighed again and closed his eyes, replaying in his mind's eye the scene that took place one month ago…

Harry sauntered back into his party, hands in his pockets, whistling a light tune. He couldn't hide his grin as Riley made a beeline straight to him after seeing him come through the doors. She had politely excused herself and damn near sprinted across the room to get to him. Riley narrowed her eyes at the grin on Harry's face. When she left him his mood was definitely not grin worthy.

"Where have you been?" asked Riley, folding her arms across her chest.

Harry shrugged. "Here, there, everywhere."

"I was looking for you," she replied staring hard. "How am I supposed to shadow you if you disappear on me?"

Harry blinked. Did her left eye just twitch? A thought began to form. "Maybe because you couldn't see the forest. Why is that? Is it because there were trees blocking the forest."

Twitch. Oh, there it was again. One more time to be sure… "It takes a whole village to raise a child."

Harry grinned wider as Riley's eye went into twitch overdrive. He couldn't hold in his laughter anymore and outright laughed in her face. Her eye stopped twitching and she looked at him confused and frankly a little worried. First he had been sprouting nonsense then suddenly he busted into random laughter. It was a little unnerving for someone who didn't know what the hell was ever going on through Harry's mind. She took a step back and raised an eyebrow.

"Are you going to be okay?" Riley asked slowly, as if she were talking to a small child.

Harry still chuckling nodded. "Yeah, I'm going to be just fine. Did you know your right eye does this spastic kind of twitch when you're irritated? It was the funniest thing I've seen all day. It looked like it wanted to jump from its socket and attack me."

He looked up as his father made his way toward them. He cut through the crowd of smiling adults and their children effortlessly.

"It's good to see a smile on your face," Killian said, beaming.

He shrugged, still smiling. "I found something to smile about."

Their heads snapped around as a loud, shriek like yell sounded through the room. It was quickly followed by a series of gasps and cries of shock. Riley shared a bewildered look with Harry. The band came to an abrupt halt as they too were caught by the moment. They couldn't see what the fuss was about the crowd was in the way. With a nod from Killian the Archangels, dressed in black tuxedos, moved in and quickly dispersed the crowd, pushing past people to clear a hole. Harry swore inwardly at the sight that presented itself before them. Zachariah stood framed in front of the doors leading outside. His suit was rumpled and his hand was clutched to his nose. Blood dried on his cheeks and a steady flow ran down past his hand. Without warning Lord Byron shouldered his way past a couple of gawking preteens. He rushed to his nephew's side, his words of concern running together into incoherent noises. With wheezing sobs the entire room heard Zachariah's telling of the events that happened outside the ballroom. Subtly, Harry tried to slink away. His froze once his name came up and eyes started to flicker his way. Damn, so much for that plan. He adopted a polite look of confusion. Well, at least he hoped it was polite and confused. He always got his guilty yet outraged expression, mixed up with his confused one. He so had to work on that. Maybe a few practice sessions in the mirror would do.

"And then he threatened me," sobbed out Zachariah. Though with his broken nose, it came out more like _thrah-thuned_.

Harry gave his father an indulgent frown. "Now it didn't _quite_ happen like that."

Brows knitted down in a decidedly unhappy look, Killian fixed his piercing green eyes onto Harry. "Oh?"

And that resulting explanation didn't go over too well suffice to say.

The next day Harry had made the paper. He couldn't remember the headline but it was some catchy play on consonance about him being a spoiled snot or violent brat, something to that effect. He could remember the picture though. It was a horrible photograph someone had taken at a completely wrong angle. It made his eyes too squinty and his head appear far larger than it was. All of the United Kingdom had pinned Harry as the country's new _bad boy_. It was a title that hit far too close to home. It was not good for business for the UK's most notable businessman, Killian McKnight, to have a delinquent for a son. Doing what all famous people did when they screwed up; Harry was forced to make a public apology. So in front of flashing cameras and story hungry journalists, Harry made a formal apology to the Winterstead family for his actions.

That was one month ago. According to Killian's people Harry was almost in the clear. Most of the country had forgotten the incident but most were just waiting for another chance for him to slip up and expose himself once again. Since he had been grounded during the past month, the media had missed their chance for more Harry screw ups. The only thing he had been allowed to do was train with Todd and Dylan and read. He had done a lot of training and reading. A lot.

Dylan and Todd had taken his training up a notch, which Harry personally thought was an unjustified added punishment. A plus was his skill at wielding his shortsward had increased with the heavy training. It wasn't as heavy and off balance as it used to be, thanks to the almost daily workouts he had wielding it. His muscles had grown accustomed to wielding the blade. He wasn't an immortal highlander but he felt that he could go one on one with Duncan McLeod and last a decent four minutes.

Harry placed the last of his Defense Against the Dark Arts books in his trunk along with the rest of his class books. Why he needed seven books for one class was a mystery. But whoever this Gilderoy Lockhart character was he sure liked to write about himself a lot. He hoped the man made a better Defense professor than writer. Frankly the stories in his books seemed a bit outlandish. Harry had read through most of his class books for this year, since picking up this years school supplies at Diagon Alley three weeks ago. His brief visit in the wizarding hub had only lasted all of an hour. His father wasn't kidding when he grounded him. Tainting their family name publicly in the media wasn't something that could be easily forgiven. Once he had gotten his new robes, he had outgrown the old ones, gotten his new books and other essentials, Harry had been whisked back to the McKnight Estate.

Harry picked his wand up from where it lay on his desk. Its pale almost tan wood coating gleamed in the moonlight. Willow and Pegasus feather. Ten inches and quite springy. The springy bit was according to Mr. Ollivander, the maker of the wand. Harry still had no idea what springy meant. The wand felt quite solid and sturdy in his hand. If the creepy old guy thought it was springy then Harry wouldn't argue with it. Ollivander was the foremost expert on wand craftsmanship in England. The willow and Pegasus combination supposedly was rare. Again, according to Ollivander. Harry had done some research after Ollivander let that information drop. According to the books he read. The combination acted as a sort of focus, taking in and then amplifying ones own power, specifically used for ritualistic magic. This was the more ancient magic that involved the invocation of spirits and other deities for the borrowing of power for a specific task. This ancient magic is very difficult, so most didn't bother learn it; therefore few barely even saw it in action, or even knew of it.

One known person to actually practice the magic successfully was none other than Lord Voldemort, the self proclaimed ruler of the wizarding realm. Long ago he had used one such ritual to bond himself to an ancient demon, an Old One. At least that's what Dagda had said. Matter of fact, now that he thought about it Harry himself had used a variation of the ritual magic last year, when he destroyed the Mirror of Erised. The Song of the Green had guided him into the performing the Revenge of the Fey spell. You could practically hear the capitals, when used the spell that invoked the Earths power. Harry shivered, remembering the power that the Song of the Green had helped him access. He rubbed the goosebumps on his arms. He was probably one of the few who could understand how Voldemort became so twisted by his power. That much of it was addicting.

"Swish and flick," Harry muttered, bringing the wand down through the air in a cutting arc. Blue and silver sparkles showered from the tip, just like the first time. The sparkles rained down and dissipated as they touched the floor.

Harry smiled and sat his wand back on the desk. A piece of him jumped in anticipation. Tomorrow he would be back at Hogwarts. Continuing his magical training wasn't something like a goal he had set. It was something that just felt like he had to do. He felt satisfied and fulfilled when learning and mastering a new spell. Magic was in his blood. It was something that couldn't be explained simply. Thor brushed up against his leg. Harry reached down and petted the cat between the ears. The action elicited a deep rumbling purr from Thor's chest.

"Tomorrow," Harry said, smiling.

Thor meowed in answer. He padded past Harry and leapt onto the bed, did a couple of circles, and then laid down. He blinked lazily at Harry then his eyes closed as he settled into a contended sleep. Harry snorted at how quickly his familiar had left him. Serenity, from her cage, gave a soft hoot of annoyance. She looked as if she didn't approve one bit of her fellow familiar's quick actions. Harry smiled. Serenity for an owl was a very dignified animal. He didn't know what it was about wizarding animals, but they acted different then ordinary animals of the same stature. Maybe it was the magic the wizards gave off. Possibly it mutated the animals, causing them to behave with a higher intellect. Harry stopped that train of thought. He had been reading way too many _X men_ comics.

Harry slipped out of his clothes, leaving him in only a pair of boxers. He slid into bed, a sigh of contentment leaving him as he settled down under the comforter, snuggling his head into the pillow. He fell asleep thinking about Hogwarts and how much more respected the school would be if it would be renamed into something more appropriate.

* * *

Harry stared out the window watching the scenery go by, only occasionally looking out the rearview mirror to see the black SUV following behind them. Harry wondered briefly if the Archangels would ever sport a color other than black. Although, black did hide blood better. There was dead silence in the car. They cruised along the semi crowded streets of London, the silver Jaguar weaving between slower cars with ease. Killian glanced at Harry and he pointedly turned his head all the way around, hiding his face.

"You can't be mad forever, kiddo," said Killian into the silence of the car.

Harry made a noise in his throat that sounded like _humph_. The meaning of the sound translated clearly, _yeah right_. Since his month long punishment, Harry hadn't gone out of his way to have any conversation with his father. He had taken to answering all of his questions with monosyllable responses. It wasn't that he hated his dad, far from it. Harry just felt that his father should have been more in his corner, supporting him, instead of making him publicly apologize and admit that he was completely at fault. His side of the story was greatly overshadowed by Zachariah's own retelling. A retelling he told to all the magazines and tabloids for quite a hefty sum, if the rumors were true.

Killian made further conversation as he parked the car in front of Kings Cross. It was more of a one sided conversation but he kept talking none the less, his voice annoyingly cheerful to Harry. If he wasn't talking then dammit there needed to be some sadness coating his father's upbeat tone.

"So are you ready to see your friends again?" asked Killian, wheeling Harry's trolley through the busy station. "I know they've been away all summer."

"Yes," he replied, looking behind him to see Dylan and Todd trailing them.

Killian didn't let the short answer detour him. "Are you looking forward to this year?"

"Yeah."

"Here's the barrier. Let's both go through at the same time."

They walked through the barrier between platforms nine and ten without stopping. Harry's vision went fuzzy for a moment then cleared as they appeared on the other side. Just like last year the platform was filled with kids and adults. Ahead, smoke billowing from its top was the shiny red train, the _Hogwarts Express_. Noisy couldn't begin to describe the sound intensity of the platform. Owls hooted constantly at one another. Kids chattered loudly between themselves, adults scolded their children or gave last minute advice, and the train's engine was at a steady hum in the background. Dylan and Todd appeared from the archway behind them.

"Lets get you setup here," said Dylan, taking Harry's trolley, and wheeling it toward the train.

They found him an empty compartment and stored his things on the storage shelves above the seats. Todd and Dylan clapped him on the back and said their goodbyes after they were done, leaving the father and son alone. Suddenly nervous and a little guilty, Harry shuffled his foot and stared hard at the ground. A hand on his chin forced his head up. He looked up and met his father's eyes. Whereas Harry's eyes were a dark green like the color of emeralds. His father's eyes were of the same color but of a different shade. To pinpoint a certain color, they were more jade than anything. And right now they were boring into Harry's eyes catching them in an unyielding stare. Damn, he hated when his dad did this.

"I'm going to miss you, kiddo," Killian whispered, cupping Harry's cheek. "I love you, son."

Harry bit his lip, the pain making him ignore the waves of guilt rolling through him. "I love you too, Daddy," replied Harry, using the name he hadn't called his father in years.

Harry wanted to say he was sorry for acting like a brat, but his father hushed him. Okay this was getting a little Disney but he was going with it. He sighed, feeling his father's arms wrap around him. They said goodbye, the tension in the room vanishing somewhere into the air. Harry waved, watching as his father slid the compartment door shut on his way out. Once Harry couldn't see him anymore through the glass window, he sat down, taking out a book with a small smile on his face. The day was looking a little brighter now. He barely heard the sharp whistle that came from the train signaling it was time for take off. But he did feel the lurch that came with the train starting forward, leaving the station in a hazy cloud of gray smoke following in their wake. Harry looked out of the window and saw his father depart through the archway with Dylan and Todd, following beside him.

"Well long time no see," said a male voice, the Scottish accent familiar and welcoming.

Harry looked up, a smile on his face. Kevin stood framed in the doorway, his shoulder length blond hair shining in the overhead lights. His bright smile made his lilac eyes practically glow. With his summer tanned skin and rosy cheeks one would have a tough time of believing him of being a vampire. But he was. He was a vampire of soul. One of the three species of vampires. Where most vampires burn and die when faced with daylight, Kevin's kind had no such inhibitions. They were Daywalkers, able to walk in sunlight without the burning or the going up in flames. A plus he was sure. Their powers were varied ranging from super strength, speed, hearing, sight, and smell. Those were just the regular vampire powers. Specifically, the vampires of soul were telepathic, could levitate and fly, and as they age they got stronger. Maybe they could form like a club or a league fight crime and all that.

"Its good to see you Kevin," smiled Harry, getting up and exchanging a hug with him. "How have you been?"

Kevin grinned. "Oh you know—"

The door opening made him stop mid sentence. "Hello boys."

Grinning widely Terry sauntered into the compartment. His black hair was in its usual form of tall, gravity defying spikes. The silver earring in his ear contrasted sharply with his deeply tanned skin. A tan that had come from spending the entire summer outside everyday training. His blue shirt clung tightly to his chest, its short sleeves showing developing muscles that had seen intense exercises for almost three months straight. He embraced both his friends in a hug. His extrovert personality showed itself in the way that he did all things, like the fact that he grabbed both of them in a hug at the same time. Harry shared a look with Kevin on Terry's shoulders as he felt like his ribs were about to crack from the pressure Terry was applying in the hug. Kevin shared his look with an eye roll, his ribs no doubt feeling a thing. Harry blew out a breath. Damn vampires and their super abilities.

"Damn, Terry, I think you almost caused my lung to collapse," Harry said, half smiling, rubbing his side.

Chuckling to himself, Terry plopped down in the seat followed by the other two. "You guys have no idea how good it is to you see. Those temple priests I wrote you guys about were brutal. I think they got some kind of kick out of the intense training they gave me."

"What exactly did you do?" asked Kevin, leaning back against his seat, with a grace that seemed fluid, like the way a cat moves when it stretches.

It was an action that was just too damn smooth for a normal human. It was a predatory move that made vampires higher on the food chain than humans. With their inherited grace they could easily entrance a human for a little snack, because that's what we were to them. Food. Well, at least that's what Professor Quirrell said in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Right now anything he taught them was worth questioning.

"Well first I was up at dawn to run down the temple stairs, which are the longest stairs ever, hand to God. Then after that starter workout," he said, snorting at starter workout. "I had to swim across the lake to a waterfall. They made me stand under the waterfall, letting the water beat me up, while I stood with my eyes closed and hands in the prayer position, to become _one_ with the water."

Harry laughed outright. Becoming one with the water? What the hell nonsense was that? "They had you stand under the flow a waterfall then had you bloody try and become one with it? I'm sorry but they sound crazy."

"I was thinking more along the lines of Star Wars-ish," Kevin commented, shaking his head. He rolled his eyes at the confused looks, and elaborated. "You know, Yoda and Obi Wan training Luke. Both of their training techniques seemed a bit…much, I guess."

Terry nodded, slowly. "Never saw Star Wars, so I'll just take your word for it. But even though Sensei Hino and Yamato were bloody crazy as hell they knew what they were talking about. Harry, you know that Song of the Green you were telling us about?"

How could he forget? Even now, if he tried really, really, really hard he could faintly hear it. It was always there in the back of his mind playing its chords, the heartbeat of the Earth. He could remember the last time he heard it so clearly and embraced it… he had weakened the Lord of Darkness. He got his ass whooped afterward, but hey he was still alive. His Badassness wasn't. The way he saw, it was Harry 2— Lord Voldemort 0. Booyah.

He continued once he saw Harry nod. "Well the oceans, the rivers, streams, well all the water on the Earth play a similar song of life. Think of it as the same song, just a small fragment, playing only a selective few notes. It's the Song of the Blue. I was taught how to better divine things by Listening to the song and seeing what I want from it. According to Hino, I have a lot of raw power, but very little fine control," his voice sounded a tad bit frustrated. "My manipulation of water molecules is pretty good but sloppy as hell."

Kevin shrugged. "Don't get frustrated mate. My Dad is giving me this look like 'if you don't levitate soon you'll be an embarrassment to the family'. He expects me to be this super vamp or something just because I'm the last of our bloodline."

Damn, Harry thought with a wince. And he thought Terry sounded bitter. This was getting way too dramatic for him. Time to switch gears. "Sooo Kevin what did you do this summer? You only sent me a couple of letters. You went to Transylvania and visited the Foundation I think you called it?"

A shadowed look passed over Kevin's eyes. He sighed with a deep exhale. Harry shot up his seat. If he was mistaken Kevin almost looked frightened for a second there. A vampire that could throw a car was scared of something? God help them, whatever he was scared of had to be something big. Of course he could be imagining ir. Harry looked closer into those lilac eyes and almost shivered. Nope. Definitely not imagining it. He was scared. Uh oh.

"I…well…there is a lot you guys don't know about vampire society," said Kevin, hesitantly. "You know about the different races of vampires. Those of Soul, Demon, and Bite. But as a whole we are ruled by a governing body. The Vampire Court. There are three Courts. Red, White, and Black."

Harry was reminded vaguely of the intricate workings of the Empire. "Which Court do you belong to?"

"House Entwhistle, of the White Court," Kevin supplied. "All vampires of Soul belong to the White Court. Demon to the Black Court and Bite to the Red Court. There are always three heads of the Courts. One from each species. The rulers of the Courts are the Stargazer, Morte de Ange, and Caretaker. They are the most ruthless, powerful, and cold people you will ever meet. To get to the top and to stay there takes power, and they have a whole lot of it. They are master vampires in the truest sense. The abilities they have make mine look like half rate parlor tricks." Kevin took a breath. Paused and then continued. "This summer I received a summons to appear before the three Lords."

Terry blanched, almost falling off his seat. "What the hell did they want from you? They sound hardcore."

"They heard that I was almost executed by the Ministry but that didn't matter to them," said Kevin, his eyes distant, obviously recalling the memory. "They basically grilled me on my fight I had with the Dark Lord. Especially me getting my ass kicked part."

Harry nodded a thoughtful look on his face. "They were trying to see what type of threat he posed to them. I know they are some scary guys from how you've described them, but…why do you look so afraid? There's more isn't there?"

"I…" Kevin automatically tried to disagree, but shut his mouth, failing. "Your right there is more. There is a vampire above even the Court Lords. I don't want to be dramatic but to make you understand I have to tell you this. The leader of the Courts is ancient. The things that darkness fears would be him. He was walking the Earth before man even learned how to tame fire. Who do the soulless things in the night pray to? Him. He is the First One, the Creator of Us All. The Lord of the Damned is unlike any other vampire. He can kill with a look and bring you to the point of insanity with but a whispered word."

Terry rubbed at his ear, particularly over his cross earring. He gave a quiet swear, his blue eyes wide in something that almost but didn't quite match the fear present in Kevin's own eyes. Harry didn't blame him for being scared. He looked down and realized that he was clutching his mother's Celtic cross in a white knuckled grip. He was damn scared too. All the time he was learning more about the unknown badasses of the world. This year he wasn't taking any chances. His gaze flickered to his trunk where his small arsenal lay hidden. He would be the last person anyone or thing, demonic or preternatural, wanted to fuck with.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?" asked Harry, thinking, _Please, don't let me had heard what I just think I heard. Please, God._

Kevin repeated himself. "I met the Lord of the Dammned. Usually the All Father doesn't have any interest in the affairs of the world. He lets the Courts handle themselves. He looks at even his own people at being little more than children that are beneath him…but he asked to meet me." Kevin turned his head to Harry, pinning him in his seat with his lilac eyed gaze. "He was most interested in you."

"Me!" shouted Harry, surprised. "What the hell."

Kevin swallowed like his throat was dry. That deep swallow that made you smack your lips a little bit. "He wanted to know about the fight between you and Voldemort. The thing is he doesn't care about anything. No one has even seen him for fifty years. He's been here so long nothing interests him. But when he heard about you from the Court Lords he became curious."

"How curious?" Harry asked, cautiously.

Kevin looked away, his gaze going to the floor. "Curious enough to be concerned."

"That's just peachy," said Harry dryly. "Now I have to worry about the Father of all Vampires on top of wondering what type of crap Grandpa Dearest and Albass Bumble and Snore will pull this year."

Terry raised an eyebrow. "Wait. Grandpa Dearest? Did I miss the memo somewhere?"

Harry told them everything. Well, they already knew about the fact that he wasn't completely human. They had known that last year when he went all medieval on Lord Voldemort's ass right before he got his own number handed to him. Harry told them about Lyrio, the annoying fairy, and also about Dagda. He couldn't prevent himself from raising his voice and talking with an extra edge in his voice when his grandfather was discussed. That Faerie God got him riled up like no other. His blood practically boiled whenever he thought of that sorry excuse for a blood relative. Once he was finished, they sat back and the room was bathed in silence. It was more of a stunned silence than anything.

"So a god," said Terry, smacking his lips with a loud pop. "With your incoming godly powers I guess your going to be less 007 with the guns and all that?"

Harry snorted. He pulled up the sleeves of his red shirt revealing the knives strapped to his wrists. "Please. Demigod or not. I'm going to keep it real and still be me. And the me at heart likes to do damage physically rather than metaphysically."

Midway through the train ride, after the candy cart lady stopped through, Draco and Hermione joined them in their compartment. Conversation was reigned in from their more in-depth discussion. They liked their other two friends, they did. But they weren't as close the three of them were to each other. It's like how you can tell your sibling something you wouldn't tell your cousin. Except, you know, none of them were related.

Hermione's hair if it was even possible had gotten a little thicker, maybe because it was longer than she usually wore it. Although thick it looked well managed, not just casual, I'm jumping out of bed and going about my day. Draco on the other hand looked exactly the same as last year. Only a little taller. His hair was in its permanent style. That slicked back look that never seemed to have hair out of place. Harry glanced at him as he laughed at a joke Kevin said. And yep, he still had that Colgate smile. Some things would never change.

"I'm really excited about this upcoming school year," said Hermione, smiling in excitement. "We actually get to be taught by _the _Gilderoy Lockhart. He's supposed to be one of the foremost experts on dark arts and how to counter them. Plus I've read that he's a skilled Demon Hunter."

If Harry knew better he would have thought there were hearts in Hermione's eyes. _Smart Hermione is ordinary. Hermione with a crush is uncharted territory. How should I approach this…_

"Hermione and Lockhart sitting in a tree!" Harry sung loudly.

Laughing Terry joined in, jumping up in his excitement. "F-U-C-K-I-N-G!"

His g went a little long, since he trailed off noticing the slack jawed looks he was getting from everyone in the compartment. So his g sounded more like geeeeeeeeeee. Chuckling a little in embarrassment, Terry sat back down and cleared his throat.

"So…" Terry said, filing the awkward silence.

Kevin gave him a look that was filled with barely contained amusement. "Yeah…so."

They didn't know who started it. It was probably Draco, whom had flushed a nice shade of pink, that laughed first. It wasn't but a moment later that the entire compartment was rolling on their sides shaking from laughter. Hermione tried to play indignant at first but couldn't manage it quite right with a room full of laughing boys. She joined along even dabbing at her eyes, driven almost to the point of tears.

"We're almost there," observed Draco, calming down, gazing out the window. "I would guess another ten or so minutes."

"See you guys later," said Hermione, waving. "Got to get a move on."

Hermione and Draco left the compartment to go back to their own, so they could change into their school robes. Harry, Terry, and Kevin dropped the shade over window on the compartment and changed into their own robes. Harry felt something close to joy at donning the familiar black robes. The patch on his chest caught the light, making the eagle in flight look almost real. Harry straightened his tie using the reflection from the window that looked outside. The sun was going down. It would only be a few more minutes till it was just over the horizon.

The same voice as last year announced, "Hogsmeade station coming up in five minutes. If you will leave all of your luggage and things on the train they will be transported to the school separately. That is all and thank you for riding the Hogwarts Express the easiest and safest way to travel."

Again, Harry had no idea where it came from. There were no speakers in eyesight anywhere. Magic.

As usual there was a scramble to get off the train once it stopped. Owls hooted, cats meowed, and voices were raised as toes were stepped on and shoulders were jarred unintentionally. The three of them tried to be polite, but since they were Second Years and a bit smaller than the older years, they were pushed around. So Kevin using his vampire strength, and Harry his usual forceful physical mannerisms cleared a quick hole for them, with Terry following in their wake loudly cursing at anyone that so much as tried to retaliate.

"Hey Queen B get the hell out of the way!" snapped Terry to a girl who was mourning the loss of her cell phone, as it got stepped on in the hustle to get off the train. Harry almost felt sympathy for her but hell she was kneeling on the ground right in front of the exit. What kind of sane person cradled a phone to their chest, while blocking an exit that people were trying to current leave from?

Cho Chang appeared from the sidelines, grabbed the girls hand and pulled the girl off the train. "There's nothing to see here folks! Let's get moving now."

They joined the older students on the station's platform. As one big mass they moved further down the platform, ignoring the First Years who were going in the opposite direction to follow Hagrid, beckoning them forward for the traditional journey across the lake. They came out in a sparse field that had a cobbled track. Hundreds of stagecoaches awaited them. There were suddenly screams of fright and yells of astonishment from some of the students.

"Thestrals," Kevin muttered.

Harry looked to where he was staring. Pulling the stagecoaches where thin, skeletal bodied creatures. Long, leathery looking wings clung to their bodies, and their dragonish head and neck regarded the students gawking at them with a sort of bored air about them. There black bodes gleamed in the moonlight and Harry met the shiny, white eyed stare with his own intense green eyes. After the shit he had been seeing and hearing the past year. This was a bit on the tame side. The question was why was everyone screaming like that?

"What are they?" asked Terry, moving forward, like the rest of the students was doing. "They look right creepy. A bit anorexic too."

"They're Thestrals," answered Kevin. "They are invisible to anyone who hasn't seen death. I'm guessing quite a bit of the older students had never seen them before till now." The names of those who died last year hung unsaid in the air. "We used them this summer to travel to Transylvania."

They settled into one of the carriages, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the smell of mold and straw that hung in the air inside. They kept the chatter light, talking only of things like feast and what kinds of foods they would probably have. The carriage set off, swaying and bumping the whole way. Harry kept his eyes gaze outside, watching as the carriage past a pair of stone columns that held old, but still imposing iron gates. Harry shook his head at the stone winged boars that topped the columns. Damn when Hogwarts went for a pig dammit they stuck with it. But Harry felt like telling the creators of the school a thing or two about design. How could he look somebody in the eye and said, "Oh your school mascot is a knight. Ours is a winged boar." That would _so_ go over well. Catch the sarcasm.

"This décor," Terry muttered. "I think someone was watching a little too much Labyrinth when they founded Hogwarts."

Harry grinned at him and swung open the door as the carriage came to a halt outside the castle doors. They got out of the carriage and followed the swarm of other students up the stone steps and into the huge oak front doors. They walked into the entrance hall, the lights of the flaming torches made their shadows dance against the walls. The grand marble staircase that led to the upper floors loomed before them, shining from its recent polish. To their right the doors of the Great Hall were open admitting the crowd of students. Harry walked in, by habit glancing up at the ceiling that reflected the sky outside. Stars twinkled in a blanket of blackness, the moon being the brightest celestial body in the sky.

Harry sat at the Ravenclaw table and waved at a few of his housemates. He plucked his hat from his pocket and joined the others in adorning his head with the pointed black hat He looked around at the faces glimmering by the light of thousands of candles that floated over the tables in mid-air. These candles were a bit old school but electricity had a habit of failing around a large concentration of magical energy. And Hogwarts was a nexus of convergence of magical energy. Too bad. He would have loved to watch a bit of television about now.

Professor McGonagall entered the room leading a line of scared and nervous young kids. She went off to the side and returned with a stool and a battered looking hat. The Sorting Hat. The hat that would read one's mind and then determine the best house for them. Harry personally didn't approve of letting some old hat have access to people's minds so freely, but if this was the way things were done then he couldn't do anything. The hat though… instead of just shouting the name of the House like it should do…it had to sing an opening song. Harry sighed, here we go. All eyes were on the hat. It twitched, shook, and then the brim ripped open and the hat began to sing.

_It well may be that I'm just a hat  
__And sure you all can tell that.  
__But I'm the one that will tell that what House  
__You belong to and that's a fact!  
__To Gryffindor those of courage  
__Live a life of righting wrongs  
__And doing what's right;  
__In Ravenclaw knowledge is  
__Treasured and those who have  
__It will always come out on top;  
__A Hufflepuff will stand by your side,  
__Working hard and always loyal to the end,  
__Those of Slytherin want power in its best,  
__Watch those snakes grovel in submission  
__To feed their own ambition!  
__So try me on and after my song,  
__And I'll make you so happy,  
__I know you can't imagine how,  
__But you will be happy right now;  
__For I'm the hat that will show  
__Where you heart and mind feels most right.  
__So at the end of this song and rhyme  
__Let the Sorting begin at this time_

The whole hall burst into applause. Harry clapped politely along with everyone else. The hat bowed to each of the four tables and then became still once again. Harry had to admit the hat didn't sing as terrible as it did last year. This year its song was more of a ballad than the upbeat number of last year. The strong tenor voice the hat was charmed with, actually threw in a couple of high notes and the riffs, with its rolling vibrato, was shockingly good. Hmm…If the hat sang like this next year then maybe Harry wouldn't dread having to sit through another sorting. The whole thing needed something to move it along because it was just dreadfully boring.

"That wasn't as bad as last year," whispered Terry. "It might want to keep investing in slow numbers."

Kevin snorted. "Tell me about it."

Professor McGonagall stepped forward holding a rolled up piece of parchment. "When I call your name, please step forward and place the hat on your head. After it shouts the name of your House please join your table."

"Attason, Sindy!"

A round face girl with blond hair caught in twin pigtails that fell down her back, stumbled forward, face flushed. She sat down on the stool, put on the hat, and after a moment of tense silence—

"GRFFYINDOR!" shouted the hat.

Harry started to space out after "Browen, Ben" became a Ravenclaw. His eyes glazed over as he watched Terry and Kevin engage in a heavy game of thumb war. Kevin was winning. Surprise surprise. Those superior reflexes in action. He cracked a smile at the scowl on Terry's face as his thumb was pinned once again and Kevin let a bored yawn, throwing Harry a subtle wink. Finally "Weasley, Ginevra" became a Gryffindor and Terry let out a low moan and murmured something about "Another Weasley. Damn that Ron!" and "Ginger kids have no fucking souls".

Professor McGonagall rolled up her parchment and took the hat and stool away. The headmaster rose to speak and those conversations that almost began ended. Professor Albus Dumbledore, in Harry's opinion, was not someone to be taken lightly. He was a figure that needed to watched and always careful around lest you be another chess piece in his intangible chessboard of life. His long silver beard, half moon spectacles, and crooked nose gave him a very distinct look. With his twinkling blue eyes and air of great energy about him, the impression he gave off was being everyone's favorite grandpa. But he was more than that. He was often described as the greatest wizard of the age, earning the respect of almost the entire magical realm. But Harry knew something about Dumbledore that most didn't know. Something that he had found out last year when he opened his Sight upon the aged wizard.

The headmaster wasn't completely human. His blood was mixed. The old wizard's grandfather had been one of the fey. A faerie. But wizardkind as a whole frowned upon the faerie as being soulless and lacking of personal responsibilities. So Dumbledore hid his true image behind a glamour, a faerie magic of illusion. The entire belief was an old prejudice really. Harry was half faerie and he knew he had a soul. Otherwise he would have killed Ron Weasley on sight after they boarded the train.

"Greetings!" said Dumbledore, hands up welcoming. "Welcome back to another year at dear Hogwarts! As you remember last year was a very dark year for our school. We lost a student and two teachers." Professor Quirrell being possessed went unsaid. Most knew of it but it was unconfirmed. "They are missed. On that note I would like to announce two new teachers to our beloved school this year. First, Professor McKinnon, who has most graciously decided to take on the position of Herbology teacher."

All heads immediately turned to the Hufflepuff table. The person who took up the Herbology position would become their Head of House. And it was no secret that the Hufflepuff's loved their recently murdered Head of House. They had mourned her loss since the night her head had been bashed in Halloween night by the rampaging troll. Sounded completely crazy, but it happened. Harry was a witness to that. The Professor McKinnon was a middle aged woman with reddish blond hair, hazel eyes, and a smile that seemed so genuine that Harry wanted to smile back in response. The applause for her was scattered and rather unenthusiastic.

"Taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts will be Gilderoy Lockhart."

A man with long, blond wavy hair that touched the collar of his shimmering scarlet robes stood up. A matching scarlet hat with silver trim sat on his head at a perfectly positioned angle. He gave a bright smile, his white teeth damn near flashing. Harry blinked at the blue eyed wizard. His teeth were whiter than Draco's. Wow.

What Harry wasn't prepared for was the female population of Hogwarts to lose their minds. They screamed out at the top of their lungs, shrieking like they just saw their teen idol walk across a concert stage. Harry shared a confused look with Terry and Kevin. This was…intense. Even Dumbledore winced a bit at the screaming and clapping the girls around them were doing. Professor Lockhart waved a hand up in the air for silence and the girls quieted down. Harry graced Hermione, who sat at the next table over, with a look of pure astonishment. She had been one of the shrieking girls. What kind of parallel world had he wandered into? Dumbledore at the insistence of Lockhart sat down, and the other wizard took his place at the podium. McGonagall and Snape both looked like they wanted to kill the man on sight. Ah, if only looks could kill….

Dumbledore however sat down and regarded Lockhart with his utmost attention.

"Oh, stop, stop you guys," said Lockhart, smiling so charmingly that Harry wanted to gag. "Yes, it is good to see me isn't it? No need to answer that." He stopped and held up a hand, pausing a moment for dramatic effect. "That was rhetorical."

Harry blinked. Was he being serious? Oh yes, he was. He looked around and most of the males in the room looked like he did. Confused that anyone in their right minds would take Professor Lockhart for what he was worth. Frankly, Lockhart was dumb as a bag of rocks.

"…I was sitting there thinking to myself one day. I could use my knowledge to teach those who are less fortunate to not have lived a life such as mine. And let's face it, who isn't less fortunate than I? So I want all you to come to my class ready and willing to learn." He flashed those perfect teeth and ran a hand through his long hair, its strands falling perfectly over one side of his face. "Just think. Your whole life is going to change, and all because of me."

Professor McGonagall coughed and Lockhart blinked and looked at her in confusion. She gave him a sharp look and he opened his mouth, probably to ignore her and continue on, but Snape shot him a glare that could have melted ice. Professor Lockhart got the hint and smiled indulgently one last time and then sat back down in his seat. Professor Dumbledore stood back up. Not looking phased in the slightest.

"I think that may have been everything of importance," said Dumbledore. "Let's start the feast!"

The golden plates and goblets before them filled suddenly with food and drink. The tables suddenly creaked as a ton of food appeared from nowhere filling the space in the middle of the tables, with a wide assortment of different foods. Harry tucked in with a vengeance. He heaped a hefty pile of turkey, mashed potatoes, and broccoli onto his plate.

"Is it just me or is this Lockhart bloke a bit conceited," mumbled Terry around a mouthful of roasted chicken.

Harry raised an eyebrow, and replied dryly, "Gee, whatever gave you that idea."

"He seems like a self centered, male cheerleader to me," added Kevin, shrugging. "I think he's going to give us some laughs. I bet we won't learn anything again."

Terry smirked. "That's a sucker's bet, Fangs-a-lot."

Kevin shot him the finger. "Go eat rocks, water slut.

"Ouh, nice comeback Count Chocolate."

Kevin took a knut from his pocket and flicked it at Terry, who caught it. "There's a knut, now go buy yourself a male name."

Harry almost chocked on a piece of turkey. He hacked and wheezed, his arms going to his throat. His eyes were watering with unshed tears. His housemates looked on concerned but Harry waved them off. He coughed, laughing and sputtering at the same time. He shot Terry a dark look but the laughter kind of defeated the purpose of the look. Finally the turkey came up and Harry's laughter had settled into a tired chuckle. This is what he missed during the summer. The constant laughs. How he had went without his best friends for two months he didn't know now. It seemed so unreal. But here, now, back again in the fold he felt like he was apart of something everlasting. Plus, where else would he find people who had the same sense of humor as him. Harry sighed, watching his two friends, banter back and forth about why neither attempted to give him the Heimlich maneuver. It was official. He was home at last.


	4. What is this Feeling?

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter either. It belongs to its creator J.K. Rowling and probably Warner Bros. too. I'm not too sure about that. This piece of literature is simply the work of a humble fan. I also credit Laurell K. Hamilton and Jim Butcher for various themes, subjects, or references that I may use. It won't be a crossover but certain elements from the series will be used.

* * *

:Author Notes:

This will be leaning more toward alternate reality. It will have the same characters just a different spin on things. If you're not a fan of strong cursing or maybe even violence and bloodshed then there is a good chance that this story isn't for you.

* * *

"What is this feeling? Fervid as a flame, Does it have a name? Yes: Loathing. Unadulterated loathing." Glinda Upland and Elphaba Thropp, _Wicked: The Broadway Musical_

**Slave of Dragons**  
Potter "Year Two"

Chapter Three: What is this Feeling?

By: Water Mage

The next morning everyone was awoken bright and early. Damn you sun and your bright rays, thought Harry as the sunlight fell directly over his eyes, waking him up out of dead sleep. The air of the first day of classes was always filled with a nervous, anxious buzz. Stumbling out of bed, Harry took a quick shower and went about his morning ritual in a sleepy haze. He was so tired. Honestly, Harry could barely remember getting to his dorm and sleeping last night. The Sorting feast always had a habit of dulling his mind. The food was that good. Or maybe it was drugged….There was a thought. No. It was too early in the morning to be thinking. Harry sleepily walked back into the room after leaving the bathroom. After donning his uniform, he lay back on his bed, and closed his eyes to wait for Terry and Kevin to get ready. Freaking Primma Donnas. The comfortableness of his bed actually lulled him back into a light slumber. He hadn't woken up this early in months. Well, except for Saturday mornings. Cartoons on Saturday morning, really, could they get any better that? Think not.

"Harry!"

His eyes snapped open and he gazed into a pair of blue eyes. A scares breath away from his face. He gave a loud curse and his hand reacted faster than his mind. A thud sounded through the room as Terry landed on the side of his bed, holding his head, a sour look directed at Harry.

"Really, Harry, was a fist to the cranium really that necessary," asked Terry grumpily, standing up, eyes narrowed at Harry.

Sheepish, Harry held up his hands. "Sorry, Terry. But really you would think you wouldn't wake me up like that after I almost lobbed Kevin's head off last year."

At that moment Kevin walked into the room. He arched his eyebrow at the sight of them. "Why do I get the feeling I just missed something."

On the way to breakfast in the Great Hall they managed to assemble together a small fellowship of first years that followed in their wake. Obviously, the little "midgets" as Terry kept loudly calling out to them, were following them down for breakfast. No doubt they had no idea how to make their way to the Great Hall. Harry personally would have rather one of them had asked how to get there instead becoming their personal shadows. It made him paranoid when people walked behind him, whispering. He found his hands kept reaching for the knives strapped to the sheaths on his wrists. It wouldn't look good for him to accidentally stab a first year, accident or not. Though from the grin Kevin kept giving him Harry assumed he was being a bit obvious in his paranoia. Or maybe Kevin being a vampire could pick up on things other people would miss. Hmm… Last time he checked he was thoroughly trained in stealth. So he was betting on the vampire theory. As they walked into the hall Kevin was the only one to wave goodbye to their entourage of Great Hall stalkers. One of the said girls blushed and gaping foolishly, walked headlong into a pillar. Harry chuckled and shook his head. That poor little girl. There was no question that her friends or housemates were going to let her live that down any time soon. Her forehead was bleeding a bit and her table, Gryffindor, was already calling her "Bloody Mary".

Her name was Mary Thomason. Ouch. Kids can be so mean.

"What class do you think we'll have first?" asked Kevin, chewing on a piece of French toast.

Harry shrugged and after swallowing his orange juice, replied. "I don't know, but I hope to God that it's not Defense Against the Dark Arts. Lockhart seems like a conceited retard."

"Cheers to that statement," laughed Terry, holding up his cup.

Professor Flitwick walked down the table handing out their timetables for classes. Harry took his with a thank you and his eyes scanned the parchment. He really didn't get the whole parchment thing. Paper was so much better but whatever. Wizards, supposedly known for being so wise, were really foolish and behind sometimes. He grimaced as he noticed their first class and who that class was with. Their first class of the day was Double Herbology with the Gryffindors. Harry closed his eyes and almost groaned but smothered it down. He didn't hate Herbology. He didn't hate Gryffindors. He only disliked them. But he did hate Ron Weasley. That ginger headed bastard….Harry felt something inside begin to stir and bubble, hot and angry. He clamped down on his thoughts right then before it could go any further. Terry however was a different story.

"Oh, for the love of all that's righteous in the world! Son of a flying monkey!" Terry growled banging his head on the table, repeatedly.

Kevin chuckled. "Am I correct in guessing you're a bit upset…"

"Whatever gave you that idea?" asked Terry blandly. "Oh, I know! It's the fact that redheaded stepchild is still alive! Injustice!"

Harry shook his head. "Terry, I'm a little upset too, but people are staring…" he trailed off, flicking his gaze toward the many pair of eyes that had turned on them.

Harry adorned a cheeky little smile and gave a wave. To Ron Weasley, who had also looked over, Harry mid wave, turned his hand backward and flicked him off, and then smoothly reverted back to waving. The boy sent him a glare that could have melted ice and Harry met it right back. If Weasley wanted to have a contest of wills then he was trying to play with the wrong person. He met the stare head on. He felt a part of himself fall away as he thought about different things he would ever do to the redhead if he caught him alone in an alley. Ron saw the dead look settle over Harry's eyes and he shuddered in remembrance at their confrontation last year outside the Charms classroom. Harry had worn the same expression then, but only he had added threats to the intense look.

Well they weren't threats but promises. It was moments like these when Ron Weasley remembered how dangerous Harry Potter-McKnight really was. He paled a bit and averted his eyes from that intense emerald stare. Usually, when you gaze into someone's eyes you see a bit of them there. A personality. A spark. Harry could blank his eyes and his stare would make you fall into them. But nothing would be there. It was almost like staring up at the nighttime sky, but there were no stars swimming within. It was like looking into the eyes of someone with no soul.

'_That's what I thought'_, Harry smiled. He picked up his fork and cut up his sausage feeling a bit smug.

* * *

They marched down to the greenhouses chatting about what they might expect from the new teacher. In the distance the Whomping Willow, its many branches waving around wildly, moved with the wind. The greenhouses were glass buildings that housed the school's magical plants. In all there were six greenhouses. Last year, they had only been allowed to work in greenhouse one. Only the harmless plants that could do nothing interesting were kept in greenhouse one. They joined the rest of the Ravenclaws who stood near the greenhouses, talking quietly amongst themselves. In a flurry of chatter and loud shouting, the Gryffindors arrived. Harry rolled his eyes, watching as the approaching group conversed so loudly that those in the castle could probably hear them. ADD, the lot of them. Hermione followed behind the gaggle her noise buried deep in a heavy book on plants. Trust Hermione Granger to try and cram in a few more facts before attending a lesson.

"Hello all," said a voice from behind Harry.

He spun around and saw Professor McKinnon emerge from greenhouse one, brushing her hands free of dirt. She gave them all a warm smile and ushered them collectively into a group, and together they walked past greenhouse one and toward greenhouse three. An excited prattle started up as they discussed the possibilities of working with the more fascinating plants the school owned. She produced a set of keys from her pocket as they neared greenhouse three. Her red blond hair whipped around as she looked back at them, amused by the excited tone in their chatter.

They walked inside and weren't surprised to see plants everywhere, same look as greenhouse one. Professor McKinnon went behind a desk that was positioned in the center of the greenhouse. The workbenches went around the room, which was the same basic positioning as the classes for Charms. Harry slid into a seat between Terry and Kevin. Hermione sat next to a round faced boy, Neville Longbottom, if he could recall correctly, a few seats down from them. Placed on the workbenches in front of them were pairs of black dragon skin gloves.

Professor McKinnon called roll and Harry gave her bonus points for not chocking on her tongue, or making an overall fool of herself at his name. He wasn't being conceited or anything. He was just strictly speaking from past experience. Professor Kettleburn last year had stammered and stuttered out Harry's name three times, his face flushed, and eyes wide.

She rolled up the parchment and looked around the room. All eyes were on her. McKinnon smiled and Harry found himself being put at ease by the smile. It was genuine and there was nothing fake about it. "Well, I hope you all had a lovely summer. I know that I did." Terry grumbled something under his breath about "taskmasters and slavery". "I would just like to say hello to you all and express my wish of us having a fun and knowledge filled year in this class. My name is Professor McKinnon and this year you will be learning Herbology that I hope you will take with you for the rest of your lives. Trust me when I say after a year of my class you will see the world around you in a different light."

She whipped her wand through the air and pots sitting near the rear entrance zoomed through air, and they landed perfectly on the tabletops. Harry cocked his head. In the brown pot was a plant. Well, calling it a plant would be doing it a kind favor. It really was the ugliest thing he had ever seen in his life. From a pair of green leaves sat a round shape. It was shaped like a tennis ball, but it was wrinkled and a revolting shade of greenish gray. A crease went across the plant horizontally. They were puckered and rosy red, almost like a pair of…lips. Terry made a sound low in his throat. A sound of disgust Harry was sure. Kevin prodded the lips of his plant with his wand and they gasped, and Lisa Turpin, who sat near them next to Su Li, gave a small yelp of surprise, as the plants lips opened and nipped at the wand tip. Nipped, as in tried to take a bite of the wand with glistening, sharpened teeth. Oh hell no. Not cool. Harry and the rest of the students turned wide eyes to Professor McKinnon, who was staring at them with twinkling eyes.

"I was just about to warn you. They're teething. Can anyone tell me what the properties of the Elugarth are?"

Hermione's hand immediately shot into the air, and Harry had to admit surprise. He had no idea whatsoever the properties of the plant were. Professor McKinnon nodded to Hermione and the girl tattled off her knowledge in a precise manor.

"The potent properties of the Elugarth are mainly contained in their leaves. When properly synthesized they can be used for a variety of useful remedial potions and antidotes."

Professor McKinnon sent her a sunny smile. "Good answer. Ten points to Gryffindor."

Hermione beamed widely and she sent a cheeky wink in Harry's direction. Harry returned her wink with a small smirk and a nod of acknowledgement. The academic competition seemed to have picked right back up from where it left off last year.

"The Elugarth are very dangerous. Can anyone tell me why?"

Surprisingly, it was Neville Longbottom's hand that went into the air faster than Hermione's. Harry blinked. Odd. That was a first. He hadn't had many classes with Gryffindors but when paired with them, he could never remember Longbottom volunteering to answer anything. With all eyes focused on him, Longbottom blushed and his eyes dropped to the ground. He tried to put his arm back down as all the attention went to him, but it was too late. McKinnon gestured to him and flushing from his roots to his neck, Longbottom stammered out his answer.

"T-the Elugarth is-is-is a c-c-carnivorous plant. It-it eats flesh a-a-and d-drinks blood. O-o-one bite f-f-from its teeth c-c-c-c-can render an a-a-animal p-paralyzed w-w-while it d-devours t-t-them."

Wow. Can you say Stuttering Stanley, Harry thought. He felt a wave of sympathy for the other boy as he looked ready to pass out when McKinnon awarded Gryffindor ten points. He had never met anyone so painfully shy before. Harry tuned back into the lesson as Professor McKinnon instructed them to put on their gloves and have their wands in hand, casting grip at the ready.

"For now we will simply be feeding the plants bits of chopped liver and trimming their leaves so they don't grow unmanageable. Can anyone tell me where these plants are most found?" asked McKinnon.

Hermione raised her hand and answered once she was called upon. "The Elugarth usually appear in patch of hollowed earth during a solar eclipse."

McKinnon beamed at Hermione. "Good job, Ms. Granger. Take ten points for Gryffindor."

Harry raised his hand. "Professor, how big do these plants get exactly?"

"Right now they are not very big," answered McKinnon, seeming really happy that everybody was being so attentive. "But given the proper diet and living conditions the Elugarth are known to grow six to seven feet in height. Their leaves can grow in length and will also sprout vines that could easily cover the length of this greenhouse."

This new information stunned the class into silence. They stared at the plants before them with new eyes. They had gotten a vague idea that these ugly plants were dangerous but now they knew how formidable they could truly become given enough time. Harry subtly pushed his plant away a couple of feet. At times like these he remembered the knives he had strapped to his forearms. That reminded him. He had to look into finding a place where he could practice his kata's with his sword.

Professor McKinnon smiled at them. It was that genuine smile that Harry found himself responding to the night before. She radiated sincerity and an urge to do nothing but teach. Harry found it refreshing to be in a room with a teacher who valued her work. "You all may begin now."

They put on their gloves and got to work. Harry had to admit that it was kind of interesting. He viewed the lesson as an exercise in reflexes. The longer you lingered near the lips of the plant the better chance it had at grabbing a nearby appendage. Terry kept grumbling or quietly swearing every so often, since his plant didn't seem to just be satisfied with the chopped liver. It kept biting at his finger and if he wasn't wearing the dragon hide gloves, his finger would have been long gone. Kevin wasn't making the situation any better. With a teasing smile he kept trying to show Terry the correct way to feed the plant. With his heightened abilities of course the entire thing looked easy. Obviously not everybody had Kevin's heightened abilities. The greenhouse was filled with shrieks from girls and cries of dismay from boys that lasted the entire class period. By the time class ended, people were covered with earth, and their fingers were throbbing from the sharp bits. Tiredly, Hermione joined the boys as they made their way up the path to the castle.

"That was an enervating lesson!" smiled Hermione, blowing away a piece of frizzy hair that had fallen in front of her eyes.

Terry's eye twitched. "Yeah…enervating…"

Kevin chuckled. "Hermione, how on Earth did you know what an Elugarth plant was? Is there anything that you don't know?"

Hermione flushed slightly but Harry didn't see the rest of her reaction because he had to stop to tie his shoe. He bent over and barely had time to look up as a shadow fell over him. He heard a gruff voice sneer, "Granger doesn't know how to _not_ be an insufferable know-it all."

Suddenly he felt a shove in his rear end and he went tumbling forward. He fell into a quick barrel roll and sprung quickly to his feet. He saw red as Ron Weasley realized he made a very bad mistake, and slowly stepped backward. Harry just reacted. He stepped forward, planted his heel, and his leg flew through the air in a roundhouse kick. His heel caught Weasley in his chin, sending him flying backward. He landed heavily on his back a few feet away. A nasty gash on his chin oozed blood and Harry didn't even hear the shouts of surprise as he stalked forward. He stood over Weasley and felt a surge of satisfaction to see that in addition to the wound on his chin, he had also bit his tongue and blood left his mouth, speckling his chin as he coughed up air.

"Sometimes I have dreams about you, Weasley," spoke Harry softly. "And in them dark things happen to you. Things that make me smile." Dimly, Harry could hear his friends frantically try and stop him but some type of invisible force held them back. A force that was coming entirely from him, accidental wizardry magic, not faerie, spurred on by his wraith. "Consider this your first strike. Tell Madame Pomfrey I said hello."

Harry raised his leg into the air, so it came above his head. Using his hands to hold it there, he released it suddenly, and gravity did the rest. His leg came down hard on, connecting solidly on Weasley's chest. Harry was detached as Weasley cried out as no doubt his ribs broke from the impact. His eyes rolled in the back of his head and he just slumped outward. Harry cocked his head. Weasley had already passed out from pain. The human body could only handle so much before it just shut down to save itself. Harry turned around and he blinked at all the ashen faces. The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws gawked at him with fearful looks.

Harry refused to let their stares get to him. "I think someone should take Weasley to the Infirmary."

"I think that his housemates can take care of that," said Professor Dumbledore striding down the path. "Mr. Finnagan, Mr. Thomas."

The boys nodded. They levitated his body into the air and directed him to follow as they walked up to the castle. Dumbledore gave the lingering students a look and they immediately started toward the castle also. His friends shot him panicked looks but left after Dumbledore fixed them a blue eyed look. Twinkle gone. Harry sighed. He was in for it this time. Shit.

"Care to explain this Harry?" asked Professor Dumbledore sternly. "I saw the ending of it, but I want to know the cause."

Harry swallowed and met the Headmaster's stare with his own. The usual twinkle was gone and this time there were no mask in place. Dumbledore was not just speaking, showing his power as his teacher, but also asking as one of his own kind, one of the fair folk. Harry knew that he couldn't lie to Dumbledore now. Not when he was standing before his true faerie form. His eyes had reverted to having triple irises, making them bigger. The long white hair that flowed down his back was glossier, shinier, and his ears. His ears ended in delicate looking triangular points. It was not like he was intimidated or anything. He had faced down a dark lord after all. Got his ass kicked. But at least he got his hits in. No, the truth was simpler. It was impossible to lie to a faerie. They could smell it. So Harry told him what happened, leaving nothing out. When he finished he just stood there, staring into that steely stare, and waited for what was to come.

"Fighting is something we don't condone here at Hogwarts. We have a zero tolerance policy concerning violence of any type," said Dumbledore in a cool tone. "I will be docking Ravenclaw sixty points and you will serve two months detention with Mr. Filch."

"What about Weasley!" Harry snapped, speaking before thinking once again. Mentally, he scolded himself, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow him whole.

Dumbledore raised a white eyebrow at Harry's inquiry. "I assure you that Mr. Weasley will be punished accordingly. I will advise in the future that you be the bigger person and don't solve violence with violence. I expect you to remember that if such an event arises again."

His form wavered before Harry's sight. It was like a veil was again pulled over him. Dumbledore cast his glamour and once again the traits that marked him as Fey disappeared. Eyes twinkling, he bid Harry leave to hurry along for his next class. Harry nodded thankfully, feeling somehow that he had gotten away with less punishment then he should have. If it were any other teacher, McGonagall or even Snape, Harry didn't think he knew that his punishment would have been worse. Extremely worse.

Ponytail flying behind him, Harry raced up the path and through the open door of the Entrance Hall. His boots with their rubber bottoms barely made noise as he rounded a corner and ran up a staircase that was thankfully not changing floors. Sweating, Harry puffed and wheezed as he sprinted through the second floor main corridor. He skidded to a halt outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Harry breathed a sigh of relief seeing that his fellow Ravenclaws were just entering the room and finding seats. Kevin and Terry lit up as they saw him and waved him toward the table they claimed in the middle of the room. He slid in the chair between them. Harry ignored the looks the other Ravenclaws gave him. Their expressions were opposite of the ones his friends gave him and with good reason too. He did just go all Van Damme on another student and with extreme prejudice too. Oh well. He barely talked with his fellow year mates anyway. Screw them.

"So ummm," Kevin began, starting then trailing off awkwardly. "So…yeah."

Terry rolled his eyes, gave Kevin an exasperated look, and then turned to Harry. "Bloody hell, Harry! You went all Bruce Lee on his ass! Weasley was all like 'blah, blah, blah'. And you were you like 'what, biatch!' Then _bam_," said Terry with a flourish, smacking his fist into his palm. "Bitch went down! And I was like Go Harry, Supermidget!"

Kevin hit his forehead with his palm. Shaking his head, he muttered, "Open mouth. Insert foot."

Harry looked at Terry dumbly. "Really, _supermidget_? Couldn't I be superkid?"

Terry nodded, tapping a finger aginst his chin thoughtfully. "Oh, that works too. I guess. Doesn't really have that ring…"

"Really though, everyone is _not_ happy at the lost points already on the first day," said Kevin quietly. "We saw the hourglass on the way into the school. We're already in the negatives."

"Hence the sour looks," muttered Terry. He looked around the room and sneered at Padma Patil who was glaring at Harry.

Harry sniffed and stuck his noise in the air pretending to look affronted. "I'm sorry that people are so jealous of me..." he said in a mock superior tone. "But I can't help it that I'm so popular."

They laughed, reigning in their mirth to quiet chuckles.

Harry for the first time looked around the room. His mouth dropped and his eyes grew into the size of saucers. Gone were the hanging cloves of garlic, mirrors showing nothing but fog, and the ever present stakes that littered the front desk all of last year. Now, covering the walls were portraits of Gilderoy Lockhart. He winked and smiled charmingly, blowing kisses to the girls, making them blush and giggle. Harry gagged. He felt like was going to be sick. This guy was just too full of himself. The door banged open and walking in like some off runway model was Gilderoy Lockhart. Today he wore shiny baby blue robes with a matching hat perched perfectly on his head. He smiled at them and Harry threw up a hand in front of his eyes to block his sight from the whiteness of those teeth. He had them whitened a tad bit too much, Harry thought. His smile was a like a fucking strobe light. Who did he think he was a Colgate actor? Lockhart turned to them and Harry noted idly that his eyes were the same shade as his robes, a clear blue that shone in the spring time sky.

Harry had his complete set of all seven Lockhart books stacked in front of him, as did all his classmates. Lockhart saw the books and looking delighted he picked up one off the top of Terry's stack. Terry merely narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. Harry bit his cheek to not laugh. Terry had this thing about snatching something that didn't belong to you being classless and egregious.

"Good, good!" smiled Lockhart, holding up _Travels with Trolls,_ his own winking portrait adorned the cover. "I'm so glad to see that you all followed the supply list and acquired all of my books." Lockhart sat the book back down. "Allow me to introduce myself. Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five time winner of the _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming Smile Award. I was born and raised till I was an early teen in South Africa—"

Terry interrupted him. "If you're from Africa, why are you white?" he asked slowly, confused.

Stephen Cornfoot shot him an incredulous look. "Oh my God, Terry, you can't just ask people why they're white."

Su Li muttered something under her breath in Chinese and shook her head. From there the tension that had been in the room, radiating from the housemates, exploded outward in a full out group argument. The room was engulfed in shouts and swearing. It was chaos at its more primal. Lockhart, looking harassed and a bit put out that no one was paying him any attention, tried to reign in the mayhem, calling order to attention. Suffice to say, his calls for order were drowned out by the voices of a dozen heated Ravenclaws. Harry was at his limits. These little idiots were really starting to piss him of, talking to him as if they really knew him. They were coming at him from all sides, criticizing his behavior and lack of proper decorum that befitted a wizard of his station. His only rebuttal was "he didn't give up fuck and to back the hell up out of his face". He wouldn't win any debate awards but his point had been made. Harry argued full in the face with Anthony Goldstein about him losing points for Ravenclaw. Anthony called him a classless reject and something snapped within him. Harry swung at the boy but Anthony surprisingly had good reflexes and dodged the punch.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang that startled them into silence. Harry instinctively ducked for cover and quickly sat down in his chair once he located the source. Professor Lockhart stood in front of the class, wand held high in the air, his face surprised as theirs. He dropped his arm and his face took on an expression of sternness that looked somehow odd. Odd since Lockhart was usually looking like the light behind his eyes was turned off.

"I am surprised at your behavior," said Lockhart, staring down at them hard. "I thought Ravenclaws were above petty squabbling."

Terry snorted. "Show's what you know," he muttered under his breath.

Lockhart shook his head at them. "I will be telling Professor Flitwick about this. For now I will take only twenty points for the disruption. Are you ready to begin class now?"

They nodded as one. Lockhart went behind his desk, whistling some jaunty tune as he rummaged around in a drawer. He produced a rolled up sheet of parchment and unrolling it with a flourish he sent them a dazzling smile, and began to call roll. They responded with a crisp reply of present and Lockhart nodded absently at each answer. He called Harry's name. Harry said present and then that's when he just froze. Lockhart had simply frozen and then his lips broke into a grin that frankly frightened Harry. A lot.

"Ah, Harry Potter," he said, looking over at Harry, who was trying his hardest to sink into a chair.

_Please, please, someone make him stop smiling at me_, prayed Harry silently to whatever deity was listening. Suddenly, the smile grew wider and Harry wanted to just run from the room. _I'm traumatized for life. I can predict the therapy sessions coming up in my future._

Lockhart literally sized Harry up with his eyes, the smile still not leaving his face. "Another famous person in our midst! What a joy it must be for you to be in my presence," he smiled benevolently, running a hand through his hair. "Being an older celebrity, I must imagine you try to model yourself after me. I _am_ the model embodiment of class and charm."

Harry blinked. Then blinked again. Was he hearing what he thought he was hearing? He looked sideways at Terry and Kevin and their disbelieving looks confirmed that he wasn't imagining this. _Good._ Because he didn't want to sound crazy when he gave his reason for punching Lockhart in the throat.

"Such a tragic way to become a celebrity. That little accident sealed your fate." Lockhart made a _tut_ _tut_ noise in the back of his throat as he traced the scar on Harry's forehead with his eyes.

Harry ground his teeth together, clenching and unclenching his fists together in anger. His eyes narrowed as anger churned inside of him ready to spill over and out in an uncontrollable fury. Luckily, Kevin spoke up before he could. It was an act that saved Lockhart from a tongue lashing and most likely an ass kicking if Harry felt that he could get away with it.

"Accident," Kevin bit out, crossing his arms. "You call defeating the Dark Lord of the darkest magicks an accident?"

Lockhart rolled his eyes. "Well, maybe not an accident…"

Kevin looked at him hard and asked, "Well, what do you call it?""

"A regime change...caused by a quite unpredictable child with a rather peculiar aversion of death," stated Lockhart rather pompously.

Harry opened his mouth then snapped it shut as pain registered in his foot. Terry had stomped on his foot, hard. Wincing in pain, Harry turned his shocked gaze onto Terry who met his gaze and shook his head, telling him with his eyes alone that now was not the time. Harry nodded and he breathed a sigh of relief once Terry lifted his foot off his own. He was going to be at peace for now but that didn't stop him from kicking Terry in the shin, making him squeal out a cry of pain. Kevin raised his eyebrow at them both. Harry tuned back into Lockhart just as he had resumed and finished calling roll.

He returned the parchment to his desk and then spun around to face them. Flashing those white teeth at them, Lockhart smiled and clapped his hands excitedly. "You guys are so lucky to have me. I didn't mean to cause a commotion though. But alas I am a commotion. In the future I would like to not start off every class with such a display. There is no need to fight for my attention. I've been thinking…"

"That worries me," Terry said quietly, making Harry and Kevin chuckle.

"I think that you all should get to know me a little better," said Lockhart serious. "I think the more familiar you are with me then the better relationship we shall have as a whole. So I took the liberty of having these quizzes made up. Nothing hard. If you read through my books this should be a breeze." He handed out the test papers. "You have thirty minutes – start – _now_!"

Harry looked down at his paper and read:

_1. Gilderoy Lockhart uses what kind of shampoo?_

_2. Out of all of Gilderoy Lockhart's adventures what his most famous one? And why?_

3. _Gilderoy Lockhart was once kissed by a princess of_ (Hint: Not America. _Wink. Wink_)

4. _How do you think you measure to Gilderoy Lockhart? Answer in complete detailed sentences_.

'_What the fuck,' _thought Harry, staring at his test as it were telling him the world was made of gold.

55. _Did Gilderoy Lockhart have an imaginary friend growing up? Name that friend._

56. _If Gilderoy Lockhart had an imaginary friend growing up, what did the friend do for a living?_

57. _Does Gilderoy Lockhart like to organize his clothes in his wardrobe by season or color?_

58. _Gilderoy Lockhart had a grandmother that died last year. What was her name?_

Harry had in fact glossed over the books. It was not like he had read all seven books in detail. Not enough to answer all eighty eight questions. So he answered what he could then went back to just fill in the blanks with random answers. Harry looked over at an answer that Kevin had written in for question fifty seven. _Why don't you ask your mother? She would know better than I would._ Harry snorted and Kevin gave him a wink, filling in other blanks with similar answers. Harry followed his lead not caring what the hell Gilderoy Lockhart would do for a million galleons as asked in question twenty one. Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers. He shuffled through them in front of the class, his face disappointed. Harry wished he had a camera. It was a Kodak moment.

"I must say that I am a little disappointed by some of these tests. I expected Ravenclaws to have studied the books more thoroughly beforehand. In _Year with the Yeti_ I clearly state that my imaginary friend's name growing up was name Taylor and he was a Space Cowboy."

He winked at them like some kind of game show host and Harry's hand went instinctively to his knife on his arm. This guy made him nervous like no other. Well not nervous. More like annoyed. He had never met someone so completely dense and so into themselves in all his life. He wasn't acting that was for sure. A theory of Lockhart taking a bullet to the brain at some point and then living, but only having limited intelligence, flashed through his mind, before Harry dismissed it. Harry glanced around the class and he could see the girls were staring at Lockhart with blank eyes. Most likely tuning him out. Figuring if they didn't have to hear him they could just focus on his good looks to get them through the lesson. Anthony Goldstein and Stephen Cornfoot were shaking with silent laughter in the table ahead of them. Kevin looked bored while Terry merely kept staring at Lockhart in disbelief. Harry smiled to himself glad that he wasn't the only one. Lockhart shook his head dissatisfied. Sitting the papers on his desk, he went behind it and lifted onto it a large, covered cage that shook as he sat it down.

Facing them, Lockhart looked at them through half lidded eyes. Harry guessed he was trying to be mysterious. From the snort that came from Mandy Brocklehurst it obviously wasn't working.

"In life there are things that are hard for us to face. Dark things. Things that will terrify you even in the light of day. There are many things in this world that you will never even hope to come against and think to live. But fear not. If I am here nothing shall befell you. I am the conqueror of demons. I am the light at the end of the darkest tunnel. So have no fear. You are in my safe hands."

Harry shuddered suddenly. "That's what worries me."

"Do not make any sudden moves," said Lockhart softly, looking around the room. "And do not scream."

They leaned forward waiting with bated breath as he lifted the cover of the cage.

"And here it is!" he said with flourish. "I have gathered and caught Cornish pixies!"

Kevin let a chuckle escape his mouth. Padma Patil echoed with one of her own. Then all together the entire class busted into laughter. While most of them hadn't been raised in a wizarding household, they were Ravenclaws. Reading is what they do best and Cornish pixies were something they went over in History of Magic last year.Harry couldn't stop his shoulders from bouncing up and down as he shook with laughter. This was just too funny. To add the icing on the cake, the half-wit was looking at them with a confused smile. He had no idea what they were laughing about. The pixies in the cage were about ten in all, eight inches tall, and their bright blue skin practically gleamed in the sunlight from the window. With shrill voices they screamed and heckled at them through the bars of the iron cage. Their large black eyes looked too big for pointed little faces. Harry laughed harder as he was sure he saw one make a face at them and then gave Lockhart the finger.

"And what is so funny?" asked Lockhart, his hands on his hips, looking annoyed at them.

Su Li stopped her laughter and answered his question, grinning, "Well, they're Cornish pixies. They're not very dangerous. We covered them last year in History of Magic."

Lockhart suddenly got a wicked gleam in his eye and smiled roguishly. "Don't be so sure about that Ms. Li. Let's just say these are…_special_." He shook up the cage startling the pixies. They cried out in fright and anger, becoming louder with their shrill yells. With a flick of his wrist, Lockhart lifted the latch and the door to the cage swung open.

All hell broke lose.

The pixies shot out in all directions like blurs of blue light, flying out with loud cries of freedom like crows. Immediately, they set to work to systematically destroy the classroom. Ink vials from Lockhart's desk were picked up, rocketed through the air, and then smashed against the walls. A couple of the them were aimed at Lockhart himself, but he let out a terrified _eep_, sounding like the token slut in a bad horror movie, and dove under his desk. They settled for shredding his portraits and taking the books lining the shelves, and throwing them onto the ground, ripping them into shreds of paper that flew into the air, and fell like confetti over their heads. The girls flew under their desk once they saw Lockhart cowering under a desk himself. If a teacher was scared then they figured they were fucked. Anthony and Stephen followed shortly after once the pixies attacked them. Scratching and biting, the pixies left cuts that covered their entire faces. It looked like the two of them went rolling around in a thorn bush.

"Back to back, guys!" shouted Harry over the screams and pandemonium.

The settled into a loose formation with their backs together, wands held in hand at the ready. Harry pulled out a knife from under his sleeve. Kevin clenched his fist and his eyes shined with an inner light as they went from their normal lilac to an almost shining purple color. Terry's hand cocked back and his fingers curled over his palm. A small sphere of clear blue light appeared just inches in front of his palm, as he gathered the water moisture in the air using his will as a focus.

Harry aimed carefully and flung his knife out. The blade speared an approaching pixie through the stomach and the momentum carried it backward, the blade plunging into the wall, leaving the pixie to hang there slack with death. Blue blood dripped from the wound, trailing down the wall in a thin line.

"_Stupefy!"_ yelled Kevin, stunning two pixies that were ripping open Morag McDougal's book bag.

They fell to the ground and one of their brethren yelled in rage and flew at Kevin with a vengeance. His eyes shined and for Kevin time seemed to slow as he embraced his full preternatural abilities. To Kevin the world crawled by at an extremely slow rate. To those watching, Kevin merely blurred as the pixie came at him. Too fast for them to see Kevin's hand slapped the air and the pixie was backhanded away. The force applied to the hit was like being hit by a speeding Toyota corolla. The pixie smashed into the wall and Padma let out a scream as its back exploded on impact and its insides splattered against the wall like a blue paintball.

Terry concentrated as he carefully gathered the water moisture in the air into his palm, shaping a glowing blue ball of energy formed of water molecules. _Poseidon, God of the Water, help me in my plight! _He prayed silently. Almost instantly he felt his focus become clearer as the invocation called on and granted him aide from the god Poseidon himself. He thrust his hand out quickly and a ray of blue light hit the pixies rocketing toward him. Instantly, as they were hit by the water energy, with a thought he made the molecules assailing them freeze, incasing them in ice. Gravity took hold and the ice-covered pixies dropped to the ground, their frozen bodies shattering.

A pixie buzzed past Harry's ear and he slashed at it with his knife. The pixie fell to the ground holding its throat that had been sliced open. A loud shriek echoed in Harry's ear and he spun around and reflexively cocked his arm back. Faster than he could even think his fist went forward and the pixie speeding at his face, eyes promising spilled blood, met his knuckled fist head on. It dropped to the ground and Harry stepped on it, feeling its weak body splatter under the heel of his boot.

Body still coiled and tense, Harry looked around the classroom and blinked. Papers covered the floor everywhere. Books were overturned. The portraits looked like a knife had been taken to them. The walls were covered with ink and the windows had holes in them. The pixies had taken to throwing wands out of the windows so the cowering wizards would be left with no defenses. Harry's long hair fell in front of his face and he scowled as he realized that one of the pixies must have cut off his hair tie. He tucked the left side behind his ear and checked his friends over. They looked as if they fared alright. A little rumpled like he was, a cut here and there, and tears in their robes, but overall they had kicked ass.

Harry licked a cut on his lip. _I wonder if I still have the chance to hit Lockhart with a stray knife and make it look like an accident._

"So," said Terry, breaking the silence of the room. He looked into the wide terrified eyes of Lockhart's. "Does this mean we get a bloody medal or something?"


	5. Endless Autumn Night

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter either. It belongs to its creator J.K. Rowling and probably Warner Bros. too. I'm not too sure about that. This piece of literature is simply the work of a humble fan. I also credit Laurell K. Hamilton and Jim Butcher for various themes, subjects, or references that I may use. It won't be a crossover but certain elements from the series will be used.

* * *

:Author Notes:

This will be leaning more toward alternate reality. It will have the same characters just a different spin on things. If you're not a fan of strong cursing or maybe even violence and bloodshed then there is a good chance that this story isn't for you.

* * *

"Every night and every morn, some to misery are born, every morn and every night, some are born to sweet delight. Some are born to sweet delight, some are born to endless night." William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

**Slave of Dragons**  
Potter "Year Two"

Chapter Four: Endless Autumn Night

By: Water Mage

Not much time had passed since the First Day Defense Pixie Massacre as some students had taken to calling it. To Terry's utter outrage no "bloody medals" were given out. Only thirty points had been awarded to Ravenclaw for the boys' quick thinking and teamwork. It would have been more but Harry got the feeling that the knives were not something that was looked at in a positive light. Oh well, they saved his skin and they were sticking to him like glue from now on. He didn't go anywhere without his knives sheathed on his arms. Often he thought about the arsenal that he brought with him. The guns stashed in the secret compartment of his trunk would come in handy again this year. Why did he think this? When you are Harry Potter-McKnight and people got kicks by trying to kill you, one began to expect an inevitable confrontation. Plus, he was just plain paranoid. Too much bad shit had gone down for him not to be the least bit cautious.

It was the third week of school that they were found gathered in the library working on their essays assigned for History of Magic. Well, they were trying to work on their essays. It wasn't going too well. Hermione and Draco had very different ideals of the legends that surrounded the city of Atlantis, the subject of their essay. Tales of the ancient city that was once home to the ancestors of the current society of wizards were varied. Most purebloods believed that the city was still intact, only abandoned and hidden from wizard and muggle kind alike. Many written and documented accounts held the belief that the city was destroyed in a great siege or sunk beneath waves with the island it resided upon. And anyone who knew Hermione Jane Granger knew that the girl believed in hard cold facts over any long held belief. When Draco told of how purebloods viewed the subject of Atlantis, Hermione immediately rebutted with what she had read in _Magic of the Forgotten World. _A bit off retort of "that useless book is wrong" was all it took for Hermione to see red. Almost an hour had passed and the Gryffindor and the Slytherin were still arguing.

"I don't care what your bloody textbook says," snapped Draco, glaring at the bushy haired Gryffindor. "All purebloods know that Atlantis was hidden away and is just waiting for wizard kind to find it. Do you honestly believe that the Atlanteans as smart as they were let their prized city be destroyed!"

Hermione crossed her arms, her glare just as powerful, and tone as sharp as glass. "That's all just a bunch of propaganda. I look at the facts and the facts say that the damned city is gone.

Harry grinned. A swearing Hermione meant that she was really angry. And angry Hermione was Harry's favorite. She was so much more entertaining than regular Hermione. Kevin saw his smile and shook his head, wearing a small one of his own. He knew what thoughts were running through Harry's head, after all what were best friends for. Or he could have been using some vampire telepathy. Harry decided to just go with the first theory. It was easier that way.

Terry closed his copy of _Magic of the Forgotten World._ "I've had a fantastic time. Unfortunately, this wasn't that time." He loaded up his shoulder bag with his things then slung it around his shoulder. "I love a good argument as much as the next bloke but this is just bloody annoying." He looked at Harry and Kevin. "I'm going to the common room. Maybe there I can actually get some work done without Blondielocks and the Lioness yelling in my ears."

Tucking his bucks under his arm, Kevin stood up too. "I think that I will join you. Harry, you coming?"

Harry shook his head. He glanced at his watch. "I have detention in about twenty minutes with Filch."

They called out their farewells as they left the library, snorting at the look of death that Madam Pince, the librarian, shot them as they made their way past her desk. Harry shook his head, smiling as he tried to turn back to his work. A tingly feeling went down his spine and he knew that without a doubt that he was being watched. Sighing, he looked up and met Hermione's gaze head on. Draco looked back and forth between them wondering did he happen to miss something.

"Can I help you?" asked Harry, raising his eyebrow in inquiry.

Hermione crossed her arms and leveled Harry with one of her piercing looks that she usually reserved for times like these. "I do hope beating the snot out of Weasley was worth all the trouble. You lost a ton of points from Ravenclaw _and_ you have two months worth of detention. Well, you only have little more than a month left to serve now."

"He put a weasel in its proper place," said Draco, haughtily. "I would think that it was very worth it."

Nodding, Harry shot a grin at Draco. "He's right. It was very worth it. I know you think violence should only be used as a last resort but believe me Hermione the freckled face bastard had it coming. Come on. Stop being all Gryffindor for a second."

She ducked her head to hide the twitching of her lips. It was too late however since Harry already saw the smile. She sighed. "Alright. You're right, Harry. I'm sorry. I'm just scared that one day they might do something like expel you. Your one of my best friends."

Draco groaned and he quickly began to pack his belongings. "I was told this was a homework session. I did not expect it to turn into lets share our feelings time. I'm out of here."

Hermione rolled her eyes and returned Draco's insincere goodbye with a clipped farewell. She herself didn't stay long. Ten minutes later, they both figured they had to be going to their respective places. Harry to detention and Hermione to Gryffindor Tower. Harry glanced at his watch. He had to get to detention in four minutes or Filch was going to have his guts served up for breakfast. Okay, so he wouldn't do all of that, but damn close. That old man was sadistic. Puffing worse than Puff the Magic Dragon, Harry skidded to a stop outside Filch's office door. He knocked on the door and it swung open promptly, startling him into taking a step back.

Argus Filch was the caretaker at Hogwarts. Everything from cleaning the floors to waxing the suits of armor was under his domain. He was tall with lamp like eyes, long stringy hair and a permanent scowl that refused to go away. Those dark eyes looked Harry up and down and he opened the door wider, silently signaling him to enter. The room was dark and windowless with a sharp smell of old socks and fish clinging to the air. Harry glanced at the wooden filing cabinets that went around the room, hugging the walls. They were labeled with the names of every student ever punished at Hogwarts. Behind Filch's cluttered desk hung a set of clean and highly polished manacles. Harry's eyes widened. Oh sweet lord, he thought. He had heard the caretaker was petitioning Dumbledore to bring back the old school punishments, particularly the one of hanging students up by their ankles, but to actually see it was a different story. _What a fucking psycho._

"Follow me," gripped Filch, after collecting some stuff from his desk and sliding them into his coat pockets.

The coat itself looked like he did. Dirty, old, and in a need of a good washing. Harry followed behind him keeping his steps silent and his breathing quiet. He basically tried to pretend that he wasn't there. The desire to engage in conversation was at a zero. Not like Filch was ready to offer him any conversation. The corridors were silent since it was close to nine and curfew was near. They went to the ground floor where the Great Hall was located. They took a right past the gallery room and entered into a room Harry had never been in. It was a large room, windowless, with glass cases hugging the walls all around the room. In the cases were trophies of various sizes, in shining colors of gold, silver, bronze, and purple. Harry cocked his head. The purple trophy came out of nowhere. He rolled his eyes. Could this school ever have anything normal?

"I need all these trophies clean," said Filch with a sneer as he turned those lamp like eyes on Harry. "And no using magic!"

What the... "But that will take me ages!" replied Harry, staring at the caretaker in disbelief.

Filch gave him a decidedly evil smile. "Then I guess you'll have something to do tomorrow night as well."

He dropped a can of Ever Shine and a blackened towel, which probably used to be white, into Harry's hands. "I'll be back in two hours. Get to work."

He bit down on his tongue watching Filch leave through narrowed eyes. That son of a thousand maniacs. That had to be more than a thousand trophies in this room. The display cases weren't small. They stretched from floor to ceiling and trophies took up every inch inside the display case. Hogwarts wasn't built yesterday. The castle was over a thousand years old and in that time a lot trophies can be accumulated. Okay, Harry thought, sighing, I shoulder definitely not kick someone's ass in public. Nothing good can come of it. He started forward deciding to just pick a random spot and work his way through them. The case wasn't locked and slid open with a slight push. Harry picked up a trophy that was on the bottom shelf. It was silver and shaped like a goblet with handles on both sides.

"Elyon Blackstone," Harry read aloud. "Dueling Champion – 1493."

Harry frowned. Dueling? The school used to have dueling tournaments? That was news to him. Learning how to use magic in combat would be a useful class, more useful than Potions, since Professor Snape taught the class like he was a supervillain from a Marvel comic. No, DC comic would be a better description. The DC villains were a little more in your face and hardcore. Harry splashed some Ever Shine on the towel and whipped the trophy free of dust and grime. A half-minute later, it shined like the top of the Chrysler building, or he was sure it shined that way if he ever had seen the building in person. He continued on that way, reading the trophies before wiping them clean and sitting them together on the floor, so that way he could keep all the clean ones together and not mixed in with the still dirty ones. He hummed to himself working more on autopilot. His mind was drifting toward the thoughts he had been trying to keep locked up. He thought of the Father of All Vampires that Kevin had said taken interest in him. He tried to hold in his shudder. God, if the Lord of the Damned wanted to know about him then he was screwed. There was no way a meeting with him would end with a nice serving of tea and crackers. Then there was the other thing on his plate.

His heritage.

He could try his hardest not to think of his mother's heritage, but there was no way he could forget about it. His mother and her family were freaking faerie gods. Not god with a capital G but gods nonetheless. The most powerful beings in Faerie. Dagda and the other Tuatha Dé Danann were children of the high goddess Danu and that made them at the top of the chart in Faerie ranking. Even the rulers of the Seelie and Unseelie Courts were below them in faerie heirachy. Harry's mind wandered to thoughts of his mother. He didn't have the power to breach the Otherworld and navigate to the lands of Faerie. One day he would. Right now he only had a weak grasp on his powers but he would master that Song of the Green and meet his mother. She couldn't step foot in the mortal planes since Voldemort ejected her soul, but that didn't mean he couldn't go to her. Harry picked up a gold trophy that was shaped like a large cylinder. A pair of wings were on the sides, and on the top was a miniture person riding a broom.

"Well this is freaky," muttered Harry, reading the engraving.

Quidditch Champions 1978

Gryffindor Lions

Captain James Potter

"Dad," he whispered softly, running his fingers over his father's name.

Harry felt a touch of guilt. Here he was harping on about his mother and her family when he didn't give his father a second thought. His mind flashed back to the past Christmas. When Harry had received his mum's cross there was barely a hesitation before he wanted to put it on and wear it forever. The same couldn't be said when he saw the cloak that his father once owned that had been gifted to him. A pang of guilt welled in his heart. James Potter was this great guy and Harry had ignored his memory. He knew why. Killian McKnight had been his father his whole life. It was so hard trying to think of another man, a long dead man, as being his dad, too. Harry felt like he was betraying both his fathers. He knew it was a stupid feeling to have, but he seemed almost like he was replacing a father in his mind by thinking of one more than the other. He could have slapped himself stupid for his over emotional thoughts. When he went home for holiday's he and his dad would really have to talk. Harry made a promise to himself. Whenever the weather started to turn colder he would wear his father's old cloak, no matter how gaudy he thought it looked. Who knows, maybe he would be surprised and like it.

The sound of footsteps echoing in the hall startled him from his musing. Filch appeared in the doorway in his shadow was his pet cat, Mrs. Norris. The dust colored cat with the eerie scarlet eyes was Hogwarts version of a mischief alarm. Mrs. Norris and Filch seemed to have an almost psychic connection. If the cat saw a student making mischief or out of bed past curfew, Filch would be there within moments since he knew the secret passages better than anyone. Rumors was the Weasley twins, the older brothers of Ron Weasley, probably knew the castle as best or if not better than Filch did. Harry relaxed his body and took his hand out from under the sleeve of his robe, right where the handle to his knife rested. Filch and Mrs. Norris surveyed the room as if looking for any signs of magic worked.

Finally, he seemed to come to a decision. "You can go."

"I'm guessing tomorrow I'll have to continue?" Harry asked needlessly.

Filch smiled nastily. "Till every one of them is shined up as good as new."

_Jerk._ Harry refrained from saying so aloud. Instead he bit his lip again and left the room, sweeping past the tall man and cat with a stony expression. See, he could be angry and not blow up. Maybe getting assigned these detentions were a benefit. Hmm…Better not think too hard on that. He might just jinx it. The hallways always creep Harry out at night. Seeing no one else walk the halls, leaving him to hear just the quiet click of his steps was downright eerie. He stopped on the second floor to take one of the secret passages that had a shortcut leading to the west side of the castle, where Ravenclaw tower was located. Harry stopped mid step in the corridor hearing footsteps that sure as hell weren't his. _Who in the hell could be out this late,_ he thought, subconsciously moving into the shadows to not be so out in the open. _I hope it's not a bloody prefect. Those bastards can work a nerve._

Vivid, flaming red hair, worn as a long mane caught his attention first. Bright brown eyes were next, set on face smattered with freckles. The Gryffindor lion crest stood out on the all black school robe the girl wore. _Just great. _Harry would know those eye-catching features anywhere. Hell, everybody in the whole school knew a Weasley when they saw one. Harry could remember this particularly one from the Sorting Ceremony. Ginevra Weasley if memory served him right. _What the hell is this first year doing out so late?_ Hmm…he could ask her, but that would involve talking to a Weasley... civilly. Was it even possible?Ron Weasley was a right asshole but his older siblings weren't too bad. Fred and George he heard were regular class clowns, and the older brother Percy was a model student. Ron seemed to get the short straw in the personality department. Making a decision, Harry stepped from the shadows.

"Hello," said Harry, giving a slight wave. "I think we are probably the only two students still roaming about."

Ginevra, startled, dropped her book she was holding. Harry instantly rushed to help her pick it up. _Damn those etiquette lessons._ Harry peered at the small book. It was brown, thin, and had a latch with a lock that would fit a tiny key. _A diary_. _Was this chick serious?_ Harry almost touched the book but small hands, covered in freckles, reached out and snatched it from his descending fingers. Wow. Harry rose up and took a step back. She was an odd little thing, he thought looking at her. Ginevra had picked up the book and was currently clutching it to her chest as if it were a lifeline. Her pale face was flushed pink and her eyes looked stubbornly down at the ground. Harry looked down at the ground thinking for a second that maybe she was looking for something else. It took him a moment to realize that either she had lost her mind or that she was just extremely shy. Harry tried to smile but it came out small, thin, and not at all sincere. He couldn't help it. This girl who barely came up to his chin was weird. Very weird. Who walked around a dark castle at night with a diary? It was just a little freaky.

"So…" said Harry awkwardly, trying to make some type of conversation to fill the silence. "You're a Weasley? I remember you from the Sorting Ceremony. Ginevra right?" She mumbled a reply but Harry didn't catch it. "I'm sorry. I couldn't really hear you."

Her eyes slowly rose till they met his. "Ginny," she said so quietly that Harry had to strain to hear her at all. "People call me Ginny."

_Why do I suddenly feel like I'm in a Stephen King book? The shy kids are never up to any good._ "I just came from detention." He winced as the sentence left his lips. Detention for kicking your brother's ass was such a good conversation to have with the freaky, shy girl. He quickly tried to change the subject and get to the point of why he was even talking to her. "So why are you out so late?"

Silence.

Harry was about to ask if she had heard him but she mumbled something about lateness and half ran-half jogged down the corridor and up the stairs. _What in all things holy? _Harry frowned after her. He shook his head. Lunatics. Those Weasley's were just socially challenged. There was no other term you could tack on to them that would fit better. He was glad now more than ever that he was in Ravenclaw rather than Gryffindor. Being in the same house as those two psychos would drive him fucking mad. He wouldn't have any friends either. Because lets face it? A Potter-McKnight and a Weasley – friends?

Not in this reality.

Giving the staircase she ran up one last stare, Harry turned around and continued on his trek. Weird little first years aside, he had to get to his dorm and get a good nights sleep or he would be one cranky kid. Tip to avoiding detention if you have Potions first thing in the morning, being cranky is not recommended. Suddenly, a loud creak echoed through the corridor. Harry stopped and spun around, looking around for the source. He frowned at the empty air. What in the hell had made that noise? Harry heard it again. He walked to a suit of armor and pressed his ear to the wall next to it. Closing his eyes, he blocked out all other sounds around him and just listened. The people in the portraits pointed to him and whispered behind their hands, wondering if he had lost all sanity. Expecting the creaking of a pipe, he got that all right, but he also heard something else—

"_Filth must die… kill them all… feed… will have feast..._"

Harry stumbled back shocked. He stared at the wall, his heart beating heavily against his chest. That voice had chilled him to the bone. It made the hairs on his neck stand up and raised bumps of cold fear appear on his skin. Was the wall talking? Or was something inside the wall talking? What was he supposed to do about this? Knowing Hogwarts this could be normal. The school was dangerous in itself. But things that actively sought out to kill was dark magic and everyone knew that the Ministry didn't tolerate that.

"_Rip them apart… rip. rip. rip… tear open flesh… so hungry."_

The voice was louder and Harry didn't have to put his ear against the wall this time. That meant that it was close. Probably right before him behind the bricked wall. Harry took a step back and with a flick of his wrists his knives appeared in his hands. Slowly, he began to make his way backward keeping both eyes on the wall.

"_Time to kill…_"

Harry swallowed heavily. "Fuck this."

And he ran.

Harry hightailed it down the corridor. He took the secret passages and ended up in the west side of the castle in record time. He practically flew up the staircase that led to the floor of Ravenclaw Tower. He didn't look back once. Breathing hard, he leaned against the wall beside the mirror portal. He must have looked a real sight wheezing at the entrance to the tower, looking like he had ran to Wales and back. Man, he was getting really out of shape.

"Icarus should have listened to reason," Harry huffed out the password.

He stumbled into the rippling mirror's surface and emerged into the common room. It was a little past midnight and Harry was thankful that everybody was in bed. Thank those prefects. They really knew how to enforce the rules. The lamps were muted to a low light and the common room was a level of quiet only seen at late hours of day. Harry plopped down on the couch and put his face in his hands. He knew that Hogwarts wasn't the safest place in the world. The events of last year had proven that. Disembodied voices proclaiming an intention to murder was new however. _Dumbledore._ Harry sighed. He had to tell the Headmaster about the voice and then it would be his problem to take care of. He might not like the man much but he was powerful and if he could stop students from being murdered, particularly Harry and his friends, then he was all for the giving of information. They had after all had enough death last year.

Harry slid his knives back in their sheaths. He had run all the way here with them in his hands. Mrs. Murphy's shrill command of "_never run with scissors," _echoed in his mind from second grade. Harry chuckled. Scissors were not his idea of a dangerous weapon. Never run with a mini Uzi was more like it. The laughter was short lived. The weight he carried on his shoulders felt so heavy suddenly. Harry sighed. _I can never have a normal school year. It's always something._ The Chinese proverb of _may you live in interesting times_ summed up his life quite well. Whatever. He had his father, his friends, and he was loved. He could handle any shit life decided to throw at him. Harry reached over and knocked on the wooden table. _Just in case._

He rose from the couch and walked up the stairs to the boy's dormitory. Harry entered the second year's dorm and tip toed to his bed. He looked around. Everyone seemed to be asleep. He smiled at Terry who was lying at the foot of his own bed drool collecting at the corner of his mouth. Harry reached into his trunk and took out a pair of blue mesh shorts and a white shirt. He shed his outer robe and dropped it in the trunk. Taking his clothes, Harry quietly made his way to the bathroom. The light fixtures on the wall immediately came on as he stepped into the room. The bathroom was white everywhere. The weird color schemes Hogwarts had seemed to stop at the house bathrooms and the Hospital Wing. The room had a row of sinks, nine total, with mirror cabinets above each one of them. The showers were communal. The shower heads were lined up against one wall with a couple of drains built into the floor. The Four Founders evidently didn't care too much about people having modesty issues when they built the bathrooms.

Since there were so many sinks, the boys had their own sink and medicine cabinet. Harry went to his sink and opened the cabinet. He took out his face washing soap (Being in the papers as much as he was—having bad skin was a no no), his eye drops, brush, and contact solution. He went through the motions of washing his face, cleaning his contacts before putting them back in, taking his hair down and brushing out the knots. He took off his uniform and changed into his shorts and shirt. He was never a big fan of regular pajamas like some of the other boys wore. They always tended to just make him hot and he would wake up in the middle of the night covered in a light sweat. He unfastened his knife sheaths and carried them and his clothes back into the dorm. He dropped them in his trunk and sat his wand on the dresser beside his bed.

The window was open allowing in the cool autumn night wind. Moonlight streamed in throwing odd shapes of light on the floor and making shadows dance along the walls. Harry made sure that his katana was secured safely above his headboard in its scabbard. He turned back the comforter and crawled into bed. It wasn't long before the enticing lull of sleep grabbed him and took him away into slumberland.

He was dreaming again. He was eight years old and it was his birthday. Harry always hated his birthday and this one was no different. He wasn't liked at school, since people considered him a bookworm and his status, as being adopted was well known and often made fun of. Even though he was of high status, his classmates thought that since he wasn't born into money, like they were, then he wasn't worthy of their time. His father thought this was nonsense and that year it was his idea for Harry to have a birthday party. Harry pleaded for him not to make a big deal of it, but his dad was intent on doing something good for him. Invitations were given to everyone in his grade with a "please come". And come they did too.

Killian wore a pair of blue jeans and a red shirt, video camera in his hand and smile on his face. His green eyes twinkled as he filmed Harry, who was smiling thinly and paling as every minute came closer to the arrival time. Dressed in a pair of blue shirts and white polo, Harry tried his best to look happy. He wasn't. People weren't going to come to his party. No one played with him at school and no one talked to him. He had no friends at school and he didn't see that changing anytime soon. He might as well not have existed as for as any of his classmates were concerned.

"Dad, can we please just call this whole thing off?" pleaded eight-year-old Harry.

Killian zoomed out the camera frame. He took his eye from the eyepiece. "Come on, kiddo. It's going to be great. Look around. What kid wouldn't have fun?"

Harry had to admit his dad had gone all out. Balloons covered the ceiling of the ballroom. Music blared from three speakers positioned in the corners. Tables laden with all kinds of food went around the walls. Two big screen televisions had been brought in and showed random swirls of color and images. The sound of the doorbell going off through the house, made them both pause. Killian shot Harry a happy grin at his disbelieving and hopeful face.

"I told you so, kiddo," said Killian, smiling. "Dylan and Todd are playing ushers today. They'll show them in. Just relax, son."

Harry nodded, biting his bottom lip nervously. Over a dozen kids began to stream into the ballroom laughing and talking loudly. Harry summoned up a hesitant grin. Maybe his dad was right. Harry received a few mumbled Happy Birthdays but for the most part the other kids acted like he wasn't there. Harry felt a weight inside his chest. He knew this wasn't a good idea. His father was still recording too, but his smile had long ago left, replaced now by a confused and worried smile. Killian looked toward the table where the gifts sat. Most of them weren't wrapped and those that were wrapped looked like they were done haphazardly, the wrapping wrinkled and not even fitting. He had a feeling that if he went over there he would find all the gifts were cheap and bought without care. The kids mingled around the room talking to themselves, moving past Harry as if they weren't in his house and it wasn't his birthday.

Todd and Dylan stood in the doorway looking around the room, starting at the kids with disgust. Harry went to get something to drink from the punch bowl. He kept his eyes low to the ground. The less he saw of everybody here the better. Harry bumped into another boy unexpectedly.

"I'm sorry," said Harry, immediately.

The other boy cocked his head at Harry. "Do I know you?"

Harry was so unhappy and disappointed he couldn't even bite off a scathing retort. He merely sighed, sidestepped the boy, and the continued on his way to the punch bowl. Todd and Dylan saw how the party was going and decided to get things more focused on Harry. The Angels of Death entered the room carrying a large white frosted cake.

"Happy birthday to you," they sang loudly, trying to get the other kids to join in.

They didn't.

Every single kid there went on talking and laughing. Harry's whole face crumpled. He felt face his grow hot and his eyes began to sting. Harry felt his eyes prickle with the sensation of held back tears. He ran from the room barely seeing his father drop his camera and follow behind him. The kids kept on their conversations not noticing his departure. By the time his dad caught up to him, Harry's room looked like a war zone. Harry had thrown stuff, yelled, cried, and screamed so loud that his voice was raw. His father didn't say anything through all of this. He just settled himself on Harry's bed and held him close as he collapsed in his lap crying silently into his shoulder.

"I told you so," the younger Harry whispered softly.

Killian hugged Harry tighter. "That you did, kiddo."

Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder and Harry felt the events of the dream _shift_. Where before it was more like he was stuck in a memory, replying an event from the eyes of his eight-year-old year, now he felt in control. He turned his body around and gasped. Green eyes the color of his own stared down at him. White hair and honey colored robes billowed out in some unfelt wind. Harry never thought he would see him again. This might have been a dream but this man was real. Harry could feel the power swirling around the man's body, twisting the air and making the walls bend at his very presence.

"Grandfather," Harry said, startled.

Dagda nodded and ran a hand down Harry's face. "Wake up, my little champion."

Harry frowned, confused. "Wha…"

He didn't finish his question before Dagda pushed him hard on the shoulders. "Fight!"

Harry was suddenly flying backward through darkness and mist. He was falling and then his eyes snapped open. And he awoke. He didn't know how he did it but the Song of the Green pulsed and he could hear its glorious music as clear as that day last year in the chamber with Voldemort. Harry's eyes suddenly glowed brightly green from edge to edge. Time slowed down for him to a mind screeching slowness. The lightning bolt on his forehead lit with a golden light throwing off the darkness near him. The light revealed a black clothed figure, masked except for their eyes, standing over him hunting knife gleaming in the light of the moon that streamed through the window. The arm was moving at such a slowed rate that it might as well had not been moving at all. Harry grabbed _Deathdealer_ from its scabbard and rolled backward off the bed. Time resumed itself without warning and the knife came down stabbing into the spot he once laid in.

"Sweet Hecate," said his attacker, their voice muffled by the mask.

Harry gripped the sword with two hands and raising it above his hand he brought it down quickly. The attacker stepped away from the fatal blow and quickly knocked the knife hard against the blade. Harry wasn't prepared for the counter and the blade flew from his hands. Harry rolled out the way as the sweeping blade of the knife past his neck. Luckily, his knives were sitting on the top of clothes in his open trunk. He grabbed the blades and went rising back to his feet just in time to deflect another swipe.

He kicked the attacker managing to catch them in the gut. They doubled over grunting in part surprise and pain. He brought his blades up and down cutting into their shoulder. Blood surged out quickly, splashing onto the floor. Harry spun bringing the knives around in an arching windmill move. The knife came up and parried his blades with loud _tings_ of impact. The hunting knife slashed out quickly and split open his wrists, making him drop the knives as his nerves burned in pain. Harry was suddenly slapped with such force that he went staggering backward. He felt the warm metallic taste of blood coat his tongue. He spit it out and glared. His eyes flared green and the hunting knife went sailing from the attacker's hand by an unknown force. Harry smiled evilly. _Take that you bastard._

The attacker lunged forward. They punched and Harry weaved, grabbed the arm, and shifted his momentum using their height against them. Harry grunted as he flipped them onto their back. The attacker hit the ground hard and Harry brought his leg up above his head. He held it there for a split second then let it go, letting gravity add momentum to make it a hurting blow. The attacker rolled and his leg hit empty air. Harry swore as his feet were swept from under him. He slammed against the floor hard onto his back, holding back a cry of pain. The attacker stood over him holding the knife again. Harry kicked out aiming for above the knee. There was a low pop, and he knew he dislocated the kneecap. The attacker cursed and stumbled over. Harry did a mental victory cheer. They never expected that one. He dived for his trunk to get the guns. He was so ready to put a bullet through this fucker and call it a night. No one tried to kill him in his sleep and got away with it. He felt a foot slam into his back and he went flying forward. He cried out as he hit the floor on his chest. His ribs felt like they were about to explode and splinter from the collision. Harry pushed the pain back and got up. The Song of the Green was still soaring through his body, giving him courage and resilience that fed his soul with warmth. Green eyes glowing, Harry lunged forward at the attacker, who was favoring their left leg slightly. His arm cocked back and he released with everything that he had catching them in the jaw with his fist. He felt the jaw give and lose structure and he knew that he broke it. _How about them apples bitch._

He barely saw the roundhouse kick that caught him in the head. Stars flared behind his eyes and he went to the ground kneeling. Harry felt dizzy and nauseous as his world began to swim. He dimly heard his dorm mates wake up with loud shouts of surprise. _Bout fucking time._ He took what little power he could from the Song of the Green to push back the intense agony he was feeling. He must have overdid it because its uplifting melody faded quickly till he could no longer hear it anymore.

Harry heard a loud hissing reverberate through the room and there was a blur of blue. Kevin tackled his attacker to the ground, rolling like a lion taking down its prey. Harry's vision cleared little by little. Kevin stood above his attacker with his foot planted firmly on their chest. That foot had the strength behind it to make sure that they weren't going anywhere. That foot could also kick a car into the air. Kevin was in his true form as a creature that stalked the night. His skin was glowing, shining, along with those lilac eyes that were like liquid fire set on his angry face. His hair moved about looking now like spun gold. He was deadly yet beautiful to behold. The fangs that protruded from his normal canine teeth confirmed the deadly part.

"You okay Harry?" asked Terry, helping him to stand.

Nodding, Harry half smiled grateful for the help. "Somebody should get Professor Flitwick and Dumbledore," said Harry, weakly.

"We'll go and get them," said Anthony Goldstien, nodding at Stephen Cornfoot to follow him.

They sprinted from the rain and then there was silence. Harry knew that his appearance had returned to normal. His eyes might appear brighter than normal but the power of the Song of the Green was gone. He could still feel his body hum with the power of the earth and it felt good. He walked over to the person trapped under Kevin's foot. The attacker struggled and Kevin hissed, baring his fangs threateningly. Harry swallowed. He had only seen Kevin like this one other time. He still wasn't used to it. Honestly he didn't know if he ever would be but he was okay with it. He wasn't going to go screaming for the hills but it was still a little disconcerting.

Harry glared at his attacker. "Who the fuck are you?"

Those silent, hazel eyes stared into him. There was no expression in them. You would expect there to be at least some anger swirling in there but there was nothing. Blood still streamed from the wound on the shoulder pooling onto the floor in a puddle of growing red.

"Bloody hell!" snapped Terry, staring at the figure bleeding on the ground. "Just talk. We already have your ass nailed to the ground."

Harry wasn't done. "Are you working for anyone?"

He was about to add a kick to the end of his statement but he thought that his friends might look at him weird. Fuck that. They already knew that he was a cold-hearted bastard at times. He kicked the attacker in the knee that he dislocated earlier. It had been moved back into place. Too bad because it popped right back out of alignment and their was an accompanying howl of pain that was like music to his ears.

"Harry, I don't think I can keep doing this," whispered Kevin, his voice ringing with a hollow tone.

Terry and Harry both looked at him and they understood at once. Kevin's flaming lavender eyes were drawn to the blood still gushing from the deep wound on the shoulder. Kevin licked his lips staring riveted at the pool of expanding blood. His breathing became uneven and his breath began to come out in harsh pants. He growled low in his throat. Uh oh. Memo to self, Harry thought with increasing fear, never let the vampire hold the bleeding attacker. Harry took a step back. Terry grabbed Harry pulling the other boy beside him. Kevin reacted to the sudden movement and stared at them. He wasn't looking at them like they were friends. He looked at them like they were food. This wasn't their friend behind those glowing eyes of bright lavender. The bloodlust had taken over.

"Sorry about this mate," said Terry, sincerely.

He dug around in his shirt and produced a thin gold cross. He held it up and pointed it at Kevin. "God, please bless your children."

The cross gleamed and turned on like a giant strobe light. The cross lit up making Kevin scream and back away, throwing up his arms to shield his eyes from the shining white light. Harry swore as the attacker made a move to get up. He dove forward without thought. The masked person suddenly shrunk. One second they were there and the next they were gone. Suddenly a flutter of feathers and the screeching of a hawk filled the room. The brown-feathered bird of prey took to the air and circled the room quickly. It took off out of the open window and into the silent night, leaving Harry gaping after it. _What the hell? _Harry kicked the bed nearest him in frustration. Was he in some kind of never ending Disney movie? People just don't turn into animals at will. The world of magic and the preternatural was turning into an overly complex place.

"Wow, a real Animagus," whispered Terry, staring out of the window and looking over at Kevin, warily. "You don't see one of those everyday."

Kevin had reverberated back to his normal appearance and smiled shakily. "Sorry guys," he said softly, his voice coming out weak. "I didn't mean to. I kind of get carried away when I see blood. Especially at night."

"It's okay," said Harry, absently massaging his aching shoulders.

Terry nodded, half smiling. "It's not like you go all grrrr all the time," he said, making a growling noise and screwing his face up. "Just once in awhile it seems."

The Professors chose that moment to enter the dorm. Harry rolled his eyes. Late as usual. Useless bastards. Flitwick skidded to a stop inside the room wand brandished ready for combat, with Professor Dumbledore striding quickly at his heels. Harry thought Flitwick looked cartoonish but he kept his comments to himself. They needed Superman and instead they get Mighty Mouse and Dudely Fucking Do-Right. Dumbledore looked around the room his blue eyes unusually serious as he assessed the scene before him. Dumbledore looked at Terry who sat on the edge of his bed swinging his legs and then Kevin who leaned against a bedpost, arms crossed, and staring determinedly at the ground. Harry turned his scowling face from the window, when he felt the piercing stare of those wise blue eyes settle on him.

"Trouble does seem to follow you, Harry Potter," remarked Professor Dumbledore, in a tone that wasn't accusing but merely stating the facts.

Harry shrugged carelessly. "What can I say? Trouble's my middle name."

"I thought it was James?" asked Terry, cocking his head.

Kevin groaned and Harry shook his head. He decided to just gloss over that and tell Dumbledore and Flitwick what happened. He of course left out the events of the dream. He told them that he just happened to wake up at the right moment. They nodded along so he could only guess they bought it. He left nothing out. There was nothing for him to hide. This time.

"Hmm…" said Dumbledore, rubbing his fingers through his bearded chin. "This is most troublesome news. Filius, extra wards will have to be added to the tower. I fear that this mysterious assailant might make a reappearance."

Professor Flitwick nodded quickly. "Of course, Headmaster. I'll get right on it. This is most distressing news."

"Can we think about getting some bars on the window, too?" asked Terry, looking a little too eager.

Kevin gave him a patient look. "Kevin, we are in a magic school. I think bars won't do much good."

"Screw the bloody bars," snapped Harry, feeling scared and angry that shit was once again happening to him. "Can we talk about the fact that this fucking building is full of crazy maniacs? On my way from detention I heard a voice in the corridor walls." He didn't notice the odd looks they shot him. "It said it was going to feast and tear people up."

Flitwick made a squeaking noise in the back of his throat at the last sentence and Dumbledore merely narrowed his eyes thoughtfully behind those half moon spectacles of his. "And you say that you heard the voice come from the wall? You didn't see it?"

"If I saw it, I would have fucking told you who the damn voice belonged to," replied Harry, frostily.

He glared at the aged wizard with a stare that could have melted walls. He could see his friends out of his peripheral vision. Kevin was looking worried and Terry was torn between laughing at his disrespectful tone and concern. Harry's loud voice had obviously drawn others to wake up and he caught a few faces peaking in through the doorway. Dumbledore's gaze turned from neutral and assessing to hard in a heartbeat. Seems like Harry had finally pushed his angry button. He pushed the buttons on all adults. Seems Dumbledore's button was activated by disrespect. Interesting. That could prove entertaining at a time when he wasn't feeling like the token virgin in a bad horror movie. They always got attacked at their most vulnerable times.

"Mr. Potter," began Dumbledore, his tone coming out slow with measured coolness. "I advise you to calm yourself. We shall enact alarm spells that will sound if the intruder comes back. That shall do till we set up the wards tomorrow." His eyes warmed and his voice softened. "For now I shall ask that you return to your beds and back to sleep."

Harry made no other argument. Really what could he say? Tomorrow he would write to his father and see what he should do, but for now all he could do was be prepared and stay on guard. Harry mouthed a tomorrow to the concerned looks his friends kept giving him. Professor Dumbledore and Flitwick both cast the alarm spell on the dorm weaving their magic into the room, concentrating it on the entrances and any cracks that appeared in the walls or ceiling. Nothing would get into the room without their knowing. Stephen and Anthony returned and crawled into their beds at the professors bidding. Harry climbed into his bed and was tempted to shoot Dumbledore the finger when he bid them "goodnight and sweet dreams". Crazy old bastard. Maybe if he had a heart attack they could get someone who was in their right mind one hundred percent of the time, instead of the forty percent Dumbledore appeared to be in.

Harry slipped the two knives under his pillow and made sure _Deathdealer_ was back in its scabbard. If he was going to get attacked again he was going to be ready. He closed his eyes and knew without a doubt that sleep would be beyond his grasp this night. He sighed, feeling sore all over and aching from bruises that would no doubt cover his entire body tomorrow.

"Harry, you going to be alright mate?" came Terry's voice from his bed after the professors left.

Harry nodded and realized at once that Terry couldn't see it. "Yeah," he answered back into the darkness.

_This bastard attacked me at my most vulnerable,_ Harry thought annoyed. _But next time they wont be so lucky. _Harry felt himself becoming angrier the more he thought of the mysterious person.

"I went head to head with a Dark Lord," said Harry so softly he could barely hear himself. "You, whoever you are, will feel a bullet in you one sunshiny day."

And it was a promise he intended to keep.


	6. March of Time

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter either. It belongs to its creator J.K. Rowling and probably Warner Bros. too. I'm not too sure about that. This piece of literature is simply the work of a humble fan. I also credit Laurell K. Hamilton and Jim Butcher for various themes, subjects, or references that I may use. It won't be a crossover but certain elements from the series will be used.

* * *

:Author Notes:

This will be leaning more toward alternate reality. It will have the same characters just a different spin on things. If you're not a fan of strong cursing or maybe even violence and bloodshed then there is a good chance that this story isn't for you.

* * *

"Who forces time is pushed back by time; who yields to time finds time on his side." _The Talmud_

**Slave of Dragons**  
Potter "Year Two"

Chapter Five: March of Time

By: Water Mage

Sunlight flowed in through the windows of the Great Hall, letting in the dim sunshine on this cloudy morning. Harry picked at his ham and eggs, a deep frown set on his face. On either side of him sat Kevin and Terry, both watching him with concerned looks. A quiet Harry was never a good Harry. They tried to coax him into conversation but to no avail. They had been trying for three days straight. Once a person tries to kill you in your sleep, well, that kind of puts a damper on ones mood. Hogwarts rumor mill was having a field day with the new gossip, which were only the barest of facts of the true nature of the attack that happened three nights ago. Kevin with his heightened hearing had so far heard whispered, exaggerated tales of Harry going mad and trying to kill his dorm mates, to the impossible tale of the ghost of Lord Voldemort out for revenge. An older girl in Slytherin noticed Kevin watching her group, whom had came up with the Lord Voldemort theory, and surmised that he was listening in. She sneered at Kevin and gave him the finger, whispering "filthy vampire" under her breath, knowing that he would hear it.

"Dark magic slut," Kevin replied with a hiss his fangs bared, looking sharp and threatening.

He turned back to the table to find both Harry and Terry looking at him oddly. Terry was the first to clear his throat and asked slowly, "Not that I don't love a good insult, mate. But what in God's name is a 'dark magic slut'?"

Sheepish, Kevin shrugged. "She looks like she would do anything for a dark spell. So, dark magic slut."

Terry patted him on the shoulder, "Riight. In the future I'm the one who comes up with the insults and comebacks. If you have one make sure they are ran by me and approved first."

Kevin blinked at him and shook his head as if regaining focus. "I'm sorry, are you still talking? I honestly started tuning you out right as you began to speak."

Harry snorted and Kevin gave Terry a superior smirk. They always made it a game to see who could make him laugh first whenever he was feeling moody. He was about to open his mouth to thank them for cheering him up, but the sudden arrival of the morning owl post distracted him. He frowned at the huge barn owl that swooped down at him. Unconsciously, he reached for the knives sheathed to his wrists underneath his robe sleeves. The owl either was psychic or had better things to do because it deftly dropped the letter on his plate, and flew off again in a flurry of feathers. He stared at the unexpected letter. His father had already threatened to pull him from Hogwarts after the attack to keep him safe, but Harry had flat out refused to leave. People were always looking to take him out. Hogwarts, magical school or not, was just as safe or unsafe as his previous schools.

Harry picked up the letter and quickly read it.

**

* * *

THE DAILY PROPHET  
**International Division  
Diagon Alley office

Dear Mr. Harry Potter-McKnight,

I'm a reporter at the Prophet. I'm doing a story on your miraculous survival  
against the Killing Curse. As you know, this Unforgivable is considered  
unblockable and for you to survive its death sentence is something that is  
unheard of. To this day it's still unknown how you managed it as a baby.

The Prophet would be willing to pay you quite well for a vial of your blood.  
Once studied by a team of warlocks, surely we can solve the mystery of what  
allowed you to survive the Killing Curse. You, and the entire wizarding world,  
will finally know the answer to the greatest mystery of the century. Please  
send your blood sample via owl or messenger to the Daily Prophet offices  
in Diagon Alley. I urge you to consider this offer carefully.

Yours Sincerely,

_Allison Oliver_

Allison Oliver  
_Senior Reporter_

_

* * *

_Would he look crazy if he started to bang his head repeatedly against the tabletop? He mentally ticked off yes to that question. Harry crumpled up the letter and stuffed in the bottom of his book bag. He remembered Allison Oliver. He vividly recalled the coldly polite tone his father used when he dealt with her that day back in June."So I guess the results were positive then?" asked Terry, crunching on a piece of toast. He laid a hand on Harry's arm, his face painted with perfect compassion. "Not all STD's are untreatable. We'll help you through this, mate."

Harry smacked the hand off his arm, and smiled crookedly. "They were your results actually. I just wanted to spare you some bad news."

"Serious, Harry," interrupted Kevin. "What's with the letter?"

Harry couldn't resist rolling his eyes, as he eyed his bag that carried the discarded letter with distaste. "This crackwench reporter wants a bit of my blood to study. Apparently she'll figure out how I stopped the Killing Curse from that one bloke."

"You just referred to the most fearsome Dark Lord of our age as 'that one bloke'?" asked Terry slowly.

"It's not like anyone says his name," replied Harry with a shrug. "How am I supposed to remember it if I never hear it?"

"Of course," remarked Terry dryly "It's such a forgettable name."

Harry nodded seriously, disregarding the sarcasm. "I know. I personally think we should call him Victor or something if we can't call him by his real name. Easier all around this way I think."

Kevin blinked. "Umm… How about no."

"As invigorating as this story is, we do have to get down to the dungeons," reminded Terry.

All three boys shared a dark look and Harry frowned. "Potions."

They slowly gathered their things and the other second year Ravenclaws mirrored them. Potions class may be less traumatic for them than the Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs, but Snape was still Snape after all. He treated them with utter scorn and took joy in docking points for their less than perfect potions. Potions that potentially would have been brewed perfectly if he refrained from breathing down their necks like the overgrown bat he was. Harry followed the throng of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, since they shared Potions this year, to the dungeons. He kept his head low. Thoughts of the attack from that night cycled through his mind on a loop. It wasn't the first time someone had attempted to come after him during sleep. As long as he was a McKnight, it wouldn't be the last time either.

What he couldn't help not thinking of was the way he had awoken. Dagda had appeared in his dream. The King of all Fey had tuned him into the Song of the Green, and once again sent him against an enemy with the power to fight, but without offering direct him. Harry didn't know whether to be pissed or thankful. He was a little of both if he admitted it to himself. The help did save his life. But this was his grandfather. His mother's father. Did he not care about him enough to step in, and smite some evil ass on behalf of his grandson's life? So maybe his feelings were a little hurt as well, supported by a large part of anger, if he really examined his emotions.

He entered the potions classroom and took his usual seat in the middle of the room in between Kevin and Terry. The other students entered and took their usual spots. He barely had time to spread his Potions textbook on the table before Professor Snape stormed into the room in a cyclone of greasy hair and swirling robes. The man marched to his desk, slammed his hands down on the surface, and stared at them icily. Someone was obviously a fan of the dramatics. The room was so quiet that you could hear the person across the room breathing. Harry wanted to roll his eyes as Snape's, dark, dark blue eyes swept across the room. Eyes that were so dark blue that they appeared an inky black most of the time.

"As Halloween is in a few weeks," said Professor Snape softly, but had no trouble at being heard. "I have been regaled with blundering students attempting potions to transform themselves or gain fantastical powers." He spat the last word out as if were a swear word, and from his expression it left a dirty taste in his mouth. "If I so much as catch another student using class time to brew such a potion that is clearly not a part of the lesson, you will be given detention till the end of the year."

His eyes landed right on Harry as the last word was uttered. That gaze to anyone else would be frightening. Too bad he was wasting his A game on Harry. Instead of cowering, he carefully schooled his face into eager obedience and nodded seriously. The older wizard gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes. If he was a betting man than he would swear that Snape didn't like him. Harry's lips twitched and he fought back the urge to smile.

"Today we will be brewing the Hair Removal Potion," said Snape. He snapped his wand at the board and writing appeared on the surface in flowing, slanted script. Professor Snape paused, glaring at the students. "Don't sit there like a pack of dunderheads! Take notes!"

They didn't have to be told twice. When Professor Snape repeated himself it wasn't pretty. Not for him, since his face twisted up like a handicapped troll, and not for the students, since they had to look upon his mutated face. Snape's quiet, nevertheless sharp voice filled the room along with the sharp scratching of quills, as they frantically copied down the notes on the board. But they had to listen to Snape also, since he explained the meaning behind the methods and principles that went into creating the potion.

"I've given you enough information, so you don't melt your cauldrons," said Professor Snape with his ever-present sneer. "Now get started!"

Harry sighed rubbing at his ear. Was it really necessary for him to yell out his last sentence every single time? It was like the man had Tourette's or something. Harry pondered that thought. It would make sense. Professor Snape did have an unhealthy rage problem. Harry figured it was because he wasn't getting sex regularly, but a genetic disorder would fit just as easily.

"Potter!" bellowed Snape, bearing down on him.

Harry frowned. He hadn't even seen him move. He had to start paying more attention. "Yes, Professor?"

Professor Snape gave him a snide look. "Are you going to get started or do you plan to spend the rest of the class period staring off with that idiotic look on your face?"

Anger bit at his insides, and Harry pushed it down as much as he could. "I want to get started, but your talking to me…sir."

"Ten points from Ravenclaw for cheek, Potter," growled Professor Snape, his eyes boring deep into Harry's green gaze.

His dark eyed stare challenged Harry to continue. Harry smirked, he couldn't let his biggest fan down. "It's Potter-McKnight actually."

Professor Snape's face filled with derision and untold amounts of contempt. Harry was shocked at the emotions that washed across that hook nosed face. He had gathered Snape didn't like him, but this was a bit much. Snape leaned in so that he was only six inches from Harry's face.

"I don't care who adopted you or what your name is," spat Snape, his teeth gritted together. "You're a Potter. Arrogant, conceited, pompous… just like your father."

It took Harry all of forty five seconds for him to realize that Professor Snape wasn't talking about Killian McKnight. He had said Potter. A rush of emotions swam through him all strong and powerful, pulling at his insides. James Potter had died when Harry was only baby. He knew only one father and that was Killian. But James Potter died for Harry, and that meant something to him. A sense of loyalty surged through his veins alongside anger. The anger was familiar. That was an emotion that he knew like an old friend. Harry took that anger and embraced it. Green eyes darkened as he directed his fiery stare at Snape.

"I don't know how you knew my father," Harry began, his voice growing colder the more he spoke. "But don't bad talk him in front of me."

Professor Snape adopted his usual, patented smirk. "Like I said. Just as arrogant as your father. You keep this up you may end up like him."

The storm of emotions that raged inside him couldn't be contained. Something snapped inside and all his fury was released. Harry slammed his hands on the tabletop and shot up from his chair. Momentary surprise flashed across Snape's face before he masked it. Harry stared him down his green eyes glittering with roaring anger.

"James Potter was more of a man than you'll ever be! My father died for his family!" bellowed Harry. His magic reacted with his emotions and lashed out. The cauldrons in the room began to shake and the tabletop beneath his hands splintered loudly with a deafening crack. He leaned in close to Snape's stunned face and said in a deathly whisper. "Talk about him again. And I will kill you."

He said it so quietly that no one else heard him but Snape. And of course Kevin. Preternatural hearing at its best. The onlookers saw Harry's mouth move and heard his barely inaudible whisper. Everyone was shocked to watch Snape stiffen as if someone told him that Merlin was still alive. Harry saw the horror that painted itself across his face. If he wasn't so furious he would have allowed the tiniest of smirks to break free. Harry could see the realization that dawned in his eyes, and he knew without a doubt that Snape believed him wholeheartedly when he said that he would kill him. It wasn't an idle threat. He meant it and the older wizard knew it too.

"Thirty points from Ravenclaw!" roared Snape, shaking with barely restrained rage. "Headmasters office now!"

Harry grabbed his bag and slung it across his shoulder. "I know the way."

He stalked out of the silent classroom keeping his eyes trained on the floor. Slamming the door on his way out made him feel a tiny bit more satisfied. Harry marched up the stairs and back to the first floor, leaving the dank and shadowed dungeons, and Snape's constant bitching. Harry loved his anger. It was great emotion to have, but Snape took it too far. It was like he lived just to bitch. And for the life of him, Harry couldn't figure out why Snape loved to be on his case more than any other student. Boys and girls normally put on such a front when they secretly liked someone… Was that it? It had to be. Professor Severus Snape was a pedophile and had a gay crush on him.

Harry shuddered. Snape having emotions other than anger was hard to even contemplate, let alone infatuation or lust. He came upon the ugly, stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office. He didn't have to say a password. Sensing his presence, the gargoyle came to life. It jumped aside quickly and the wall behind it split open to reveal the spiral staircase.

Harry rolled his eyes and muttered dryly, "I guess someone is expecting me."

The wall closed behind him with a low thud and he stepped onto the staircase. Just as he remembered it moved on its own like an escalator, taking him higher and higher at least three floors from where he started from. It deposited him off in a narrow hall that led him to a heavy oak door. He cautiously opened it and stepped inside. Professor Dumbledore nodded at his fireplace, where a flaming shape was speaking quickly to him.

"Yes, Severus. I understand," said Professor Dumbledore to the fiery shape. "He's here now."

Harry frowned. Was that Professor Snape talking through the fireplace? What the hell kind of telephone call was this? The fire extinguished itself and Dumbledore turned around to face Harry. He was dressed in a set of deep purple robes trimmed in lavender with stars decorating the edges. The man loved his robes. Harry absentmindedly wondered if maybe Dumbledore loved to shop. He seemed to have a new robe every time he saw him.

"Ah, Harry," smiled Dumbledore. He gestured toward his desk. "Please have a seat."

The crimson phoenix, Fawkes, watched him as he took a seat. Harry wondered what it was about him that caused the bird to watch him so curiously. Could the creature sense the divinity that flowed within his veins? Did it know what Harry really was? Fawkes trilled a resounding note that made his very soul hum in contentment. He was going to assume that the phoenix could indeed see the truth. The spark of intelligence behind its eyes spoke volumes.

Professor Dumbledore took a seat in his chair and looked at Harry with his twinkling blue eyes that gazed at him speculatively. Harry didn't like that gaze. He felt like he was being measured. So he sat back in the chair and returned the stare. Never let it be said that Harry was the most mature person on the planet.

"Professor Snape informed me of your actions and why you were sent here," said Dumbledore. He didn't look mad, which was a plus. "I am disappointed that you two have once again resorted to another heated argument."

So it looked like it was blame game time. Harry frowned. "It wasn't my fault. Professor Snape has it in for me or something," he argued. "He came at me all intense, and I can't but react. This time he even bad talked my father. My biological father. Snape said I was arrogant and stuff like he was… I didn't even know they knew each other! Why would he even say something like that?"

A weary sigh left Dumbledore's lips. "It's unfortunate that Professor Snape would resort to bringing up past grudges."

"Grudges?" blurted out Harry. "Snape and my dad didn't get along?"

Dumbledore nodded, his blue eyes dimming as he remembered events from long ago. "James was in Gryffindor and Professor Snape was a Slytherin, both in the same year. For seven years they fought much the same way you and Ronald Weasley fight. Boys will be boys, and I'm afraid that for some people the past is harder to let go."

"Wait!" said Harry, holding up a hand. "Snape doesn't like me just because he didn't like my dad. All his anger and constant hatred directed at me is because he's still nursing some hurt feelings."

"I'm afraid so."

Harry blinked. "Oh. Well tell him to grow a pair and get over it. I'm tired of him leering at me. I was positive that he was a pedophile and wanted my body. It makes a little bit more sense than a grudge that's been held longer than I've been alive. Are you sure that's the problem?"

Dumbledore slowly nodded, looking at Harry as if he couldn't quite tell if he was being serious or not. "I am quite sure. I will tell Professor Snape to treat you more fairly, and I ask that you refrain from threatening to kill a teacher," he said the last seriously, his tone hard.

Harry met those old blue eyes and was just as serious when he said, "No promises. He talks about anyone of my parents again like that and I won't be able to control myself."

"Harry—"

"No," snapped Harry, his fists clenching with his rising anger. "My parents fought and died for me. Their memories deserve respect, so I'll fight just as hard for them."

"I meant no disrespect, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore sincerely. "But Professor Snape is a teacher and deserves respect."

Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. No one that insults my parents will ever get my respect. Especially from someone that treats me like dirt just because he's mad at a man, a man who has been buried in the dirt for over a decade."

"That is quite enough, Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore frowning, staring at Harry with equal parts disappointment and anger. "I will issue no punishment. This is a warning. One more incident like this and I will punish you. This matter is closed for now." His shoulders sagged and he appeared sad when he looked again at Harry. "You may go, Harry."

Harry groaned. He was not falling for the guilt trip. He stood stiffly and after giving the Headmaster a small nod, he spun on his heel and briskly left the office. Harry fumed silently as he deftly dodged students streaming through the halls. Snape only picked on him because he and James Potter hated each other? What kind of weak shit was that? His father was dead. Harry didn't know a thing about him really. Snape was demented that's all there was to it. He was starting to think that his theory made more sense. Snape had classic pedo-smile after all.

He walked without thought and it was a surprise when he found himself at the door to the Charms classroom, his next class. Terry and Kevin came around the corner. He gave a little wave and they jogged over to him leaving the awed second year Ravenclaws behind. They looked almost surprised to still see him. They probably thought he would be expelled. He was just as surprised he hadn't been.

Grinning, Terry slung an arm around Harry's shoulder. "Sweet Avalon, mate! I figured you were a goner for sure. You're on a roll this year with the trouble making!"

"Trying to give the Weasley Twins a run for the money," smiled Kevin.

Their humor eased the tension between Harry's shoulder blades. "Smart ass is my middle name after all," he smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "You guys wouldn't believe the shit Dumbledore told me about why Snape is always on my back."

"Tell us in a minute," stated Kevin, jerking a thumb at the classroom that was filling up. "It's time for Charms."

Harry nodded and they entered the classroom. The Ravenclaws didn't look angry that he lost points which caused Harry to relax even more. People were really serious about the House Cup. He had all the numbers opposite of zero when it came to school spirit, so the House Cup meant less to him than Ron Weasley's health. He took a seat just as Professor Flitwick entered the room. The little wizard, that most suspected was descended from Dwarves, waddled up to his podium that was setup in the center of the room with all the student stations circling it. Harry had heard somewhere that Flitwick was an accomplished dueling master, he didn't see it, but he wasn't going to test the rumor.

"Hello, class," squeaked out Professor Flitwick. "Today we'll be learning a simple charm that is used to make fading writing appear clearer, or to cause writing that's invisible to become visible. The incantation is Aparecium. Make sure you rotate your wrist nice and loosely, then flick sharply to get the maximum effect. You may work in groups or by yourself, whichever you prefer."

Harry sighed. Thank goodness he didn't pair them up. He eyed the Gryffindors they shared the class with and could already feel his eye twitch at their overenthusiastic go get'em attitude. It was like they were always on a permanent drug overdose.

"So did you get in lots of trouble?" asked Terry quietly, as Flitwick used magic to send papers through the air to land before everyone.

"You may practice on these parchments. I will go around and help anyone who needs it," announced Flitwick.

Harry shook his head and retrieved his wand from his pocket. "None at all actually," he answered Terry. "I pretty much told Dumbledore that I would never respect Snape and that it's moronic that he still has a grudge against my dad."

"What's he got against your dad?" asked Kevin confused. "I guess they would have known each other now that I think about it. Probably went to school together if Snape is as old as he looks."

Harry nodded, not surprised that Kevin had quickly made that connection. "They did go to school together. Year mates too. Apparently they hated each other enough that Snape has transferred his hatred from father to son."

"Wow," uttered Terry amazed. "You think your dad raped him or something?"

Both Kevin and Harry stared at him.

"What!" said Terry defensively. "I mean it's a pretty traumatic event! My older brother told me there was a bloke in Manchester who got raped as a teenager. He grew up, got angrier, went nuts, and eventually tracked the guy down who fucked him and blew his head off. He killed the guy's pet rabbits too. It was—"

Harry held up his hand, gaping at him. "Okay we get it. I can definitely tell you it wasn't rape."

"Oh," said Terry dumbly. "Maybe your dad stopped him from starting an apocalypse. We know Snape is the right hand of Satan."

Kevin looked at him like a small child. "Your imagination is way too active."

"I would hate to read his mind," said Harry, eyeing Terry who was staring off with glazed over eyes. No doubt involved in an elaborate fantasy where James Potter superoheroed Snape from triggering Armageddon.

Harry rolled his eyes and punched Terry in the shoulder to get his attention. "Hey, Terry get a grip."

"So is Snape going to be civil to you?" asked Terry, snapping from his daydream with surprising quickness.

Harry snorted. "Impossible. Dumbledore said he'll talk to him though. We'll see how much good that will do."

"Little I expect," agreed Kevin, brushing back a lock of blond hair.

There was a scream behind them and they spun around to see Hermione frantically trying to stamp out a flaming parchment all the while Neville Longbottom clutched at his wand, looking like he was holding back the biggest sob in the world.

Times like these made him grateful he hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor.

* * *

The corridor was dark and the torches burned brightly providing light that lit even the shadowed corners. Harry yawned feeling slightly lethargic from the good food at dinner. He scratched at his arm and stopped as noise to his left broke the silence.

"Ah, Harry Potter!" beamed Professor Lockhart, striding toward him as if someone told him Harry was going to give him free money. "Just the boy I was looking for."

Harry didn't relax. That smile if anything made him even more tense. "Eh, hello…"

"I noticed that you're sort of famous at this school," said Lockhart, smiling at Harry as if he thought it was cute that Harry was famous "and I being the celebrity that I am, wanted to let you know that its okay to feel awed when in my presence. One day you may indeed be as famous as me. Until then it's okay if you want to model yourself after me, or take notes on how to be as classy as I am."

Harry's mouth dropped. Professor Lockhart chuckled. "And there's that awe again! Listen Har', may I call you Har'?"

"No."

Lockhart continued talking not even registering that Harry spoke. "And _you_," he said, leaning down, grinning as if he was about to impart the biggest favor onto Harry. "You may call me Gilderoy."

Harry stared at him incredulous. "That's okay. I'd rather not."

"There, there," said Lockhart, nodding knowingly. "I know you must feel extremely honored. I'll let it sink in, Har'. I'll see you in class tomorrow."

He tossed Harry one of those thousand watt smiles and walked off whistling very off key. Harry stood rooted, staring at the empty air where Lockhart once stood. Did that really just happen? That was just too unbelievable. Harry shook his head pushing the event to the back of his mind. It was better to pretend that it just didn't happen. It would help him sleep at night.

"You really shouldn't be out by yourself after last night," said a voice behind him.

Harry jumped as Mr. Matheson silently walked to his side. The older man had let his blond hair grow out so now he had bangs that brushed against his forehead. His green eyes, lighter than Harry's own, pierced him and made him feel younger with how they calmly assessed him. What the hell was this? If people who fucking stalked Harry could fly then this hallway would be an airport.

Harry cocked his head. "Are you following me?"

"I'm a Shadow," Matheson stated shrugging. "What are you doing out here by yourself?"

"I went up to the Owlery to send off a letter to my dad. I wanted to tell him about today," he replied, he looked Matheson up and down with calculating eyes. "But I suppose you and the other Shadows already updated him on the situation."

Matheson's face was carefully blank, not reacting to the accusation. "You shouldn't be out alone. It was only three days ago that somebody tried to kill you."

A slow smile spread across Harry's face. "Maybe I want them to try something while I'm awake this time."

"Don't joke around like that," said Matheson frowning.

Harry took a step back and raised his arms. His sleeves slipped down revealing the knives sheathed on his wrists.

"Who said I was joking?"

Matheson quietly chuckled. "I suppose not. Come on, Master Harry. I'll walk you to your common room."

Harry grinned and walked with Matheson. They didn't speak a word. Harry didn't know what to say to start off. It was weird that his dad had people on payroll that actually watched him in secret. It was kind of creepy, but it's not like he could turn away the service. His dad's reasoning for having private bodyguards were sound. They were much needed after last year and this week's attempt on his life. If he had a galleon for every motherfucker that tried to kill him… well he would have enough money to buy The Weasley kids some decent robes. Well maybe just one of the spawn.

They came upon the mirror portal and Mr. Matheson bid Harry goodnight. Harry watched him walk away and shook his head. Now there was a man of few words. He wondered what his story was. Where had his dad found him? He made a note to find that out. Never hurt to know more about who was watching your back. The common room was half full as it still wasn't close to curfew. Harry waved at a few people and made his way to his dorm.

"Anybody give you shit for the point loss?" asked Terry as he entered the room.

Harry shook his head. "Surprisingly no. I think they're impressed I'm still alive or not expelled. Where's the rest of our dorm mates? I didn't catch them in the common room."

Kevin chuckled. "Probably the library. They were dead set on trying to make up for the points you loss."

"I will never get school spirit," sighed Harry, lying down on his bed. He stared at the ceiling tracing the painted patterns with his eyes.

"The House Cup looks like something they gave to the kids in the special ed class at the end of the school year anyway," laughed Terry, going over his homework. He plopped down on bed right beside Harry.

Kevin sat on his own bed, quietly laughing. "Are you saying that you were in special ed classes in primary school?"

Terry narrowed his eyes. "Bite me."

"Is that an offer?" asked Kevin teasingly with a smile, deliberately showing fangs.

Terry's eyes widened and he nervously shook his head. "No. No. No! I am so not trying to be your little Happy Meal with legs."

Harry chuckled and rolled off his bed. They teased each other back and forth and he shook his head at their quick banter. They lived for their verbal sparring. And when Harry got involved it turned into a verbal war. Before he met them he had never known what it was like to truly have friends. People that liked him just for him. It felt good. He opened his trunk and deposited his knives inside. His hand encountered a smooth, silky surface and he tugged it free. A shiny and extremely gaudy cloak fell from the trunk. He picked it up frowning at it. What the hell? When the fuck did he get—

"Oh!" he said aloud in realization. "This was my father's!"

"What are you going on about, mate?" asked Terry, peering down at him.

Harry smoothed out the wrinkles in the cloak staring at it truly for the first time. "I got this for Christmas. I don't know who sent it, but the note that came with it said that it belonged to my father. I kind of feel bad now…" Harry trailed off staring at the shimmering cloth. "I put it away since I didn't really need it and it's so horrid…but after the mess from earlier I think I should wear it sometimes… It's the only thing I have from him."

"That's a nice idea," said Kevin understandably.

Harry shook it out and with a dramatic flourish he slung it around his shoulders and struck a pose. "So how does it look?"

They stared silently with their jaws dropped.

"Oh God," moaned Harry, closing his eyes. "It's bad isn't it? Do I look like Dumbledore? I knew this fucking thing was too damn flashy!"

Terry pointed a finger, his eyes wide as saucers. "Harry! You're fucking invisible!"

Kevin jumped from his bed and sniffed the air, slowly taking a step, then another, following his nose. He grabbed at the spot Harry stood and his fingers touched the cloak. He pulled it away revealing a surprised and confused Harry who stared stupefied at his now visible hands.

"I was invisible!" exclaimed Harry. "What the bloody hell?"

Kevin wonderingly stared at the cloth gathered in his hand. "This is an invisibility cloak."

Harry stared at the fabric in awe. "Well fuck me."

Terry jumped up from Harry's bed and joined them in examining the cloak. "These are really rare," he said amazed. He looked at Harry and shook his head. "And you just had this in your trunk since last Christmas?"

"Yeah," replied Harry sheepishly.

Terry grinned clapping him on the back. "Good job. Worlds biggest idiot award now goes to Harry Potter-McKnight."

A moment later after Terry was picking himself up from the floor, and Harry smiled at the cloak in his hands. And here he thought his father had the worst taste ever. Now he saw the cloak for what it really was. It was more than a gift. It was a tool. The possible uses for the cloak raced through Harry's mind like strikes of lightning.

Thinking happily to himself, he grinned slyly,_ 'This will be fun.'_

_

* * *

_It's been awhile. I never meant to be gone so long. It was hard getting back into this. Going back over the earlier chapters of the Potter series, I cringe at some of the things I wrote. Some things I wish I didn't write, some things I want to add. Maybe one day I will revise the whole thing, but that's not today. I did revise some parts. I cut some lines, cut some scenes, changed scenes, and changed Harry's father's name to Killian. I hope that people still have an interest in this series. I want to say thanks to everybody who reviewed and sent me messages urging me to continue. I appreciated it.


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